Dance of the Red Death
by dawneh
Summary: In the Hollyoaks City two very different men reside... one a master criminal, the other a guardian angel - and when they meet their lives are changed forever
1. Chapter 1

The cold night air whipped around the all but deserted streets of Hollyoaks City, spattering the pavements and cars with a fine drizzle that made them sparkle each time they caught the light of the bright moon, as it managed to peak out from between the ominous clouds.

An occasional taxi sped down the quiet roads, creating a spray of water as it raced through a puddle. A tidal wave of dirty water drenched an old homeless man, making him swear and shake an angry fist at the car that had long since driven from sight.

On a high rooftop, a solitary figure stood motionless and impassive. The chill of the wind and rain didn't seem to touch the figure, who surveyed the quiet streets below with a steady gaze. His static stance as he lingered in the half shadows, gave the strange man the look of a beautifully sculpted statue. His strongly muscled arms were folded across his chest, the close fit of his clothing emphasising every gentle curve of his body, as his intelligent eyes continued to stare unblinking at the world before him.

A break in the dark cloud cover directed a beam of bright moonlight towards the figure, giving only slight illumination to the man's dark outfit. It was dark, midnight blue. The same shade the night reaches when the moon's illusionary light fades, threatening the heavens with oncoming blackness. Silver armour clung to his legs, arms and chest, crowned with a full mask. It was this razor sharp armour that had earned him his name.

In his time he had been called everything from a menace to a superhero, and there were times when he wasn't sure which of those descriptions was nearer to the truth.

Taking a deep breath, the mysterious figure smiled to himself. He had a deep love for his adopted home, and had taken on the responsibility of protecting the city and its citizens to the best of his ability.

The residents of Hollyoaks City simply knew the man as: "The Knight".

* * *

On the other side of town a lone figure slipped between the shadows, blending into the dark as if he was born to be a part of it, like a silent creature of the night.

Casting a careful glance around the empty streets, the man dropped his rucksack from his back and removed the long practiced tools of his trade. Within minutes the door of the jewellers stood open, its alarms expertly silenced, as the figure tiptoed between the displays of gold and silver, diamonds and rubies.

One hand, clad in a jet-black glove, trailed over the glass counter tops as the man passed by. The jewels contained within held no interest for him, he had a larger goal in mind, and he walked determinedly to the back of the store where he knew his desire was housed.

The man's well-defined muscles rippled beneath his snug black top as he reached up and lifted a painting of an old weather-beaten couple down from one wall.

With a skill honed over many years of such break-ins, the man quickly accessed the heavy safe, its door swinging open silently to reveal its precious cargo.

The man's eyes sparkled as he withdrew a small velvet package and paused to glance inside.

The large diamond shimmered with the brilliance of a thousand stars, and the man watched the light dance inside it for a few moments before hiding it back inside its velvet wrapping and slipping it deep inside his pocket.

Sometimes he stole to order, sometimes on a whim, and sometimes just because he wanted to.

The walls of his apartment were adorned with glorious works of art, each one an original posing as a reproduction.

The man in black loved to be surrounded by beautiful things, and the diamond now secured in his pocket was to be added to his personal collection. Sometimes he just wished he could show off his art, but then when your art was theft, it wasn't easy.

Rubbing his eyes the man smiled to himself behind his dark mask. Reaching back inside his rucksack the man took out a small card and placed it inside the safe before closing the door. The card was pure white but for the small picture of a wild cat in one corner

The man was known simply by the name of the cat that was on each calling card he left wherever he went: "The Ocelot".

* * *

Craig Dean looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. Despite a very late night and an equally early morning he still looked fresh and, even if he did say so himself, damn good!

His dark eyes glistened with the reflection of the early morning sunlight that streamed through the window of his fifth floor apartment. Leaning forward he checked carefully for any signs of dark rings or bags beneath his stunning chocolate eyes. Of course there were none, there never were. No matter how little sleep he got, no matter how late it might be before he hit his bed, Craig still managed to look as bright as if he had gotten his full quota of rest.

Craig Dean had a look that many envied, that countless tried to emulate and that a select few could, for the right price, hire. His stunning good looks, and exquisite physique, made him a very desirable property indeed and as such, whenever that extra special model was required to front a campaign, it would be the phone of Craig's agent that would be ringing first.

Straightening his tie Craig stepped back from the mirror to observe the complete package of his image. Dressed in an immaculate Valentino dark grey suit with blush pink shirt and matching tie he looked every inch the top model that he was.

Craig sighed as he reached out a hand to turn on the radio and check the local news. As well paid as his career was, and as successful as Craig had become, he still needed more. And it was during his late nights that Craig Dean found true satisfaction. The world might think that they knew Craig Dean the model. But what they didn't know was that, in the dark of the night, he was a very different man all together.

* * *

John Paul McQueen ran one hand through his short, dark blonde hair, spreading a thin layer of gel and combing it through with his fingers until it looked just right.

His bright blue eyes shone as brilliantly as the early morning sun and no one who looked at him would have ever guessed the late hour at which he had finally made it to bed. Late nights had become the norm for John Paul, although to his colleagues and associates, for John Paul never really made friends, he was the type of man to always leave any social occasion first claiming the need of an early night. Nobody really knew John Paul McQueen, and that was the way he preferred it.

Catching a glimpse of a glossy magazine that had been casually thrown on the floor the previous evening John Paul smiled. It wasn't so much the beautiful model, with her long dark locks that shone like highly polished ebony, that caught John Paul's attention, but rather it was the framing of the shot that gave him a rush of pride. If there was one thing that John Paul knew it was photography, and it was his skill and expertise that had put him at the top of his field and made him so highly sought after that he could cherry pick the work he wanted, passing on those jobs that held no interest to him. It was just a shame that the work no longer thrilled him the way it did, and more recently it was his late night adventures that really got his blood pumping.

Fastening the belt of his jeans John Paul straightened the hem of his black long sleeved shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. As always he tried to combine a look of elegance with that of casual ease and, with his simple clothing, combined with his natural good looks, that some might even call beauty, John Paul McQueen never failed to cut a dashing figure, often rivalling those for whom he was paid to photograph.

Switching on the radio John Paul turned his attention to the local news.

* * *

On opposite sides of Hollyoaks City the two men stopped what they were doing and listened to the news report.

The robbery of a large diamond from the city's most famous jewellers was the headline and the news caused two very different reactions.

One of the men laughed, a soft melodious laugh, rich and full of good humour, as the newsreader once again told of the police's inability to catch the now infamous Ocelot.

The other man frowned and ground his teeth in annoyance, his previous good mood leaving him as he once again silently vowed to catch the criminal that seemed to be able to elude the police.

The Ocelot and The Knight were destined, however, to meet far sooner than either of them could have anticipated.

* * *

John Paul refocused his camera lens, changing the angle slightly until he had his shot framed perfectly. He sighed in frustration. The shot would have been perfect but for the lack of one thing. The model!

John Paul had discovered that, the more successful he became and the higher ranking models he got to work with the more he had to pander to them.

Where a newer or less well known model would be desperate to please the photographer and would usually be on time for a shoot if not early, the models that John Paul now worked with often acted like they were doing him a favour by even turning up.

"I know, I know, I'm late, I'm sorry… but I'm here now."

Craig Dean breezed into the studio with an air of confidence bordering on arrogance as his long dark coat billowed out behind him like a cape, sweeping around as he flashed his wide grin at everyone in sight.

"Traffic… you know how it is," Craig lied with practised ease. Not that he really cared if everyone knew he'd stopped off for a coffee on the way to the photo shoot. What were they going to do about it? Fire him. He knew that was never going to happen.

"Craig Dean," the dark haired man said, in an unnecessary introduction as he walked up to John Paul and held out his hand. "I'll be your model for the afternoon!"

John Paul smiled in spite of himself and shook Craig's hand warmly. He had seen the man countless times before, in glossy magazines and television adverts fronting one campaign or another, but up close Craig Dean was a whole new level of handsome.

John Paul found himself blushing as he tore his gaze away from Craig's penetrating dark eyes, regretting his choice of clothing. A look that, a few hours earlier, John Paul had considered to be casual elegance now felt decidedly scruffy next to Craig's perfectly tailored sophistication and he found himself wishing that he's made more of an effort. Raising one hand to his head John Paul touched his carefully gelled locks nervously. He had been working with top models for several years now and not once had he been concerned about his own appearance in comparison to them, but there was something about that dark haired man that made John Paul want to be sure he looked his best.

"Err… I'm… errr … John Paul McQueen," the blonde photographer stammered, raising his eyes to peer at his model again.

"Yeah I know who you are," Craig replied, a statement which both surprised and pleased John Paul, "I've seen your work… you're good… really good…"

"I… well… err…. thanks," John Paul said with a smile. "You're not bad yourself…"

"So I've been told," Craig replied with a cheeky wink before sauntering off to see what outfits he would be getting paid a fortune to wear, in the hope that the general population would believe if they owned such clothing they could look just as good as him.

* * *

Clare Devine licked her glossy red lips slowly as she watched the dark haired model making the new season of mens wear from DevineFashions look far better than she could have anticipated.

Running one hand through her golden blonde hair Clare grinned. There was a predatory look that glinted in her eyes, a look that would have given many men cause to worry. Clare Devine liked to marry the rich and bed the beautiful and, if two of her three husbands had happened to die leaving their wealth to her, well she could hardly be blamed for that could she? Unfortunately money had a habit of slipping through the woman's hands at an alarming rate, her taste for beautiful things not only limited to the men she slept with.

The fortunes of DevineFashions had been failing slowly over the past four years and Clare had taken the decision to hire the best model and photographer that money could buy in the hope that they could save her Company from total bankruptcy. Even the cash injection that she had received following the sudden, and tragic, death of her third husband, twelve month's earlier hadn't been enough to turn things around and Clare was getting desperate. But she knew that there were always other, less wholesome, ways to find money if she needed to. Clare Devine wasn't above doing whatever was necessary to secure the comfortable lifestyle she had come to love.

"Well I think that's it," John Paul said as he took the last shot of the day, stretching his aching shoulders with tired satisfaction.

Clare slid from the stool where she had been perched for most of the photo shoot and sashayed over to the model who, in her opinion, had more than earned his extortionate fee already. She had loved watching the man's athletic body and stunning good looks as he posed for the camera, her mind slowly stripping away the layers of clothing, and now she wanted to see if the reality of his naked body matched up to her imagination.

"You look gorgeous in that suit," Clare said as she stroked on hand over Craig's arm coyly. "It really goes well with your colouring… and the cut fits you perfectly."

Craig smiled at the compliment, his eyes glancing down at the well-tailored midnight blue suit that was the focal point of the Devine Collection.

"Yeah," Craig replied politely, "There's some decent stuff in this collection."

The truth was that the suit, which clung seductively to Craig's form, was the highlight of the set and, in Craig's opinion, the only decent piece in the whole collection. No matter how good the clothes might look when on the back of a model like Craig Dean, in reality they were little more than average and stood no chance of competing against some equally priced, but better designed, clothing from the many rival fashion houses that were the constant thorn in Clare's side.

"You should keep it," Clare offered, her hand still resting on Craig's arm and her eyes fluttering so much that Craig wondered if the woman might be on the verge of a stroke.

"I couldn't possibly…"

"Course you can… it's my company after all… and what better advert than to see Craig Dean out and about in one of my suits?"

"No really," Craig said with a pleasant smile as he moved to walk way.

Clare grabbed his hand firmly, the intent in her eye quite clear as she lowered her voice. "But you look so good in it," she purred, "although you'd probably look better out of it… how about you and me go for a few drinks."

"Sorry," Craig replied, shaking off her grip as forcefully as he could without appearing rude, "I've already got plans…"

Without waiting for a response Craig strode away, leaving Clare silently fuming at the rejection before turning on her heels and charging away as if on some important, but hitherto forgotten, business.

John Paul tried to stifle his laughs as he watched the exchange between the couple, his respect for Craig doubling in an instant as the man rejected Clare's advances. John Paul had witnessed many men being lured into the woman's bed before now, the more handsome the man the more Clare Devine wanted to take possession of him and so few ever seemed able to resist. John Paul continued to chuckle to himself as he packed away his camera, unaware that he was being watched until the moment he stood up and came face to face with two stunningly deep chocolate brown eyes.

"Fancy a drink?" Craig asked with a warm smile.

"I thought you had plans," John Paul replied, gesturing towards the location of Craig's exchange with the blonde woman.

"If you agree to come for a drink with me I will have… you don't want to make me into a liar do you?"

John Paul laughed at the perverted logic to Craig's argument, his laughter failing as he looked again at the model who was asking him out for drinks. He couldn't help but wonder why that man wanted his company, what was he after? What was the catch?

"I mean if you're not interested," Craig said stepping back a fraction. He suddenly felt very unsure of himself. Much like Clare Devine, Craig Dean wasn't used to rejection and the brilliant blue eyes that looked at him coolly suddenly unnerved him. "I mean you are… shit… It's just, you know… what I've heard… you are gay… right?"

John Paul's brow furrowed with confusion. Was Craig Dean actually asking him out on a date? That was so far from possible it was bordering on ludicrous.

"Aren't you dating that model… what's her name… Sarah something?"

"Sarah Barnes?" Craig laughed softly. "It doesn't hurt either of our careers to be seen together sometimes… but that's all there is to it… so what d'you say? Couple of drinks? I know a nice little place not far from here…"

"I…" John Paul hesitated uncertainly. There was no denying that he found the dark haired model attractive, more than just attractive, but there was no way the feeling could be mutual, was there? "Sure, why not," he finally agreed with a shy laugh.

"Great," Craig replied enthusiastically. "Now just give me a minute to get into a suit I WOULD be seen out in public in and I'll be right back."

Looking down at his own clothes as Craig disappeared to get changed John Paul sighed. He really should have made more of an effort today.

* * *

Several drinks later and John Paul felt relaxed and at ease in the company of the man he had only met a few hours earlier.

Not only was Craig Dean handsome and charming but John Paul had also discovered him to be witty and amusing and, as the day moved into evening, John Paul couldn't remember ever having enjoyed himself so much, not for a very long time. His life after dark normally meant he kept other people at arms length, but there was something about this man and his deep penetrating stare that John Paul was finding more and more irresistible.

Craig peered at John Paul over the rim of his whiskey glass. He had never seen eyes of such a mesmerising shade of blue before, or skin that looked as smooth as silk, making his fingertips itch to reach out and touch the man's cheek. Craig Dean had long since become a master of sexual conquests, his looks and confidence and, even if he did say so himself, his considerable skills in the bedroom, had tempted many into bed, where he had shared his pleasures before disappearing into the night. But there was something about John Paul McQueen, something more intriguing, he wanted more than to just sleep with the man, but he had to admit, he wanted to do that too.

"So, you and that Sarah," John Paul said, his words breaking into Craig's thoughts, "What is it then? Just a business thing?"

"And the occasional pleasure," Craig replied with a wicked laugh, "Well she is a very beautiful woman…"

"Oh," John Paul said with uncertainty, letting his eyes fall into his whiskey glass, "So you're not…"

"Gay? No… I'm…" Craig paused to think. The truth was he never bothered to label his sexuality, gay, straight, bi, they were just words that didn't really mean much to him. "I'm whatever I need to be."

With one finger under John Paul's chin Craig lifted the man's gaze up to meet his, once again marvelling at the brilliance of his hypnotically azure eyes, wondering for a moment how they would look in the throes of passion.

"Does that bother you?" Craig asked.

"I…" John Paul thought for a moment, consciously aware of the touch of Craig's finger that still rested lightly underneath his chin. The warmth of the man's touch sent shivers running down John Paul's spine. "No… no I don't think it does…"

"So," Craig said, returning his hand to his drink and watching the last mouthful amber liquid as he swirled it around the bottom of his glass.

"So?" John Paul echoed before draining the last of his own drink.

"Do we say goodnight here and head off home alone now? Or…" Craig's eyes sparkled at the implication of his words and he slowly sipped the remainder of his whiskey, relishing the burn as it trickled down his throat.

"Or?" John Paul said raising his eyebrows, unable to keep the smile from his eyes as he watched Craig slowly licking the last drops of alcohol from his lips.

As one the men rose to their feet, their gaze locked together for a moment, each of the marvelling at the depths of the others eyes and wondering what secrets lay behind them.

"My apartment is only a five minute walk from here," Craig said as he slipped his arms into his long dark coat.

"And yet you were late for the photo shoot," John Paul replied with a laugh.

Craig shrugged, his face illuminated by a wicked grin. "People expect it of me," he replied, "And I don't like to disappoint." Craig's grin widened considerably. "I never like to disappoint!"

* * *

The two men walked the short distance between the bar and Craig's apartment as quickly as they could without appearing to hurry. Craig's hands were buried deep in his coat pockets and he cast the occasional furtive glance at John Paul as they walked. It wasn't like he hadn't done this kind of thing before. Sleeping with someone he'd only known a short while wasn't exactly something new, not that he made it a habit but this certainly wasn't the first time, but with John Paul it felt different. Better, more exciting, like it was the start of something rather than simply one night of mutual enjoyment.

John Paul tuned his face in Craig's direction and, catching the man's eye, he felt himself blush and was grateful for the growing darkness of the evening that helped mask the flush, which turned his pale skin a gentle pink. He couldn't quite believe what he was doing. Not that John Paul McQueen lived the life of a monk, but it was somewhat out of character to find himself going back to someone's apartment after such a short time of knowing them. But there was something about Craig Dean that made it seem like the right thing to do, there was something about the dark haired man that made the word no slip from John Paul's vocabulary as if he would never need to use it again.

"Here we are," Craig said, coming to a stop outside his apartment building.

John Paul looked up, visibly impressed. Not that he would have expected a successful model like Craig to live anywhere that didn't reflect his status but he had no idea that the man would have made his home in one of the top apartment blocks in the city.

"Nice," John Paul said with a shy smile, glancing down at his clothes and once more feeling a little underdressed.

"I like it," Craig said with a casual shrug as he pushed open the front doors and stepped into the foyer.

John Paul looked around wide-eyed as he followed Craig into the building. Glistening chrome, polished brass and gleaming marble dazzled his eyes as he stepped in from the dark and he stumbled a couple of steps before regaining his balance.

Craig nodded to the security man who sat behind a highly polished wooden desk that wouldn't have looked out of place in any one of the cities top ranking hotels.

"Evening Mr Dean," the security guard said with a smile, his grin directed at the blonde man who was walking slowly in Craig's wake towards the elevator.

The security guard watched as the two men stepped inside the elevator, the doors closing quietly behind them. The thirty four year old man had worked in the apartment building for the past five years and seen many visitors pass through its doors. He prided himself on knowing which of the young models guests would be a one-night visitor and which he would see again. There was something about that blonde man with the dazzling blue eyes that made Tom know this one was a keeper.

As the elevator doors closed behind them Craig turned to his companion and, with one fluid movement, he pushed the man into the wall, pressing his mouth hard against John Paul's in a kiss that felt as if it had been a lifetime in the making.

A sound, somewhere between a growl and a purr, rumbled in Craig's throat as he pinned John Paul to the wall of the elevator with the full weight of his body, his tongue pushing into the blondes hot mouth to taste the sweet hint of whiskey that still lingered there.

John Paul's arms wrapped themselves around Craig's body, pulling it harder into him as the heat of their kiss intensified and the small confined space echoed with the sounds of their combined desire.

There was a soft ping as the elevator reached the fifth floor and the doors slid quietly open making the men pull apart, both of them equally flushed and breathless.

Craig smiled, for the first time a hint of shyness sparkling in his rich brown eyes. Despite his deep confidence and self-assurance the look of desire that was glistening in the bright blue eyes that were staring at him made him feel vulnerable and exposed. A sensation that both excited and frightened him.

"I suppose we should erm…" Craig gestured to the elevator doors.

"Yeah… right…" John Paul agreed and the two men slowly moved from the small metal room, their eyes never leaving each other and their steps moving in a perfectly mirrored motion.

Craig's tongue ran slowly over his lips, tasting the lingering flavour of John Paul's kiss as he rummaged in his trouser pocket for his keys.

John Paul watched the movement of Craig's tongue as if hypnotised, his skin tingled from where Craig's stubble had brushed against his face and he couldn't remember one kiss ever leaving him feeling quite so aroused before.

Craig's hands trembled slightly as he unlocked the unnumbered dark mahogany door that was the entrance to his home.

John Paul took in the view of the hallway as the two men stepped over the threshold. The carpet was a deep burgundy and felt thick beneath his feet; the walls were covered with a neutral shade and dotted with several large pictures.

"That always gives me the creeps," John Paul said as he nodded to a framed print of Edvard Munch's The Scream, the figures long drawn face and frightened eyes making him shiver as he passed it.

"Yeah I know what you mean," Craig replied with a smile, "I still kinda like it though… it's…" Craig looked at the painting for a moment, his smile deepening. "It's intense," he concluded.

John Paul simply nodded but still felt relieved to move away from the screamers chilling stare.

As Craig pushed open another door at the end of the hallway a soft mewing could be heard as two cats jumped up from their shared basket and raced to entwine themselves around the man's legs.

Craig laughed as the two cats weaved in and out of his legs, purring happily to have him home and making him struggle to take off his coat and hang it onto the hook on the wall, indicating that John Paul should do the same.

"Anyone would think I'd been gone for days," Craig chuckled affectionately as he reached his hands towards his loving pets, holding them just above the cats' heads so that they had to jump slightly to be stroked.

"They're gorgeous," John Paul said honestly as the felines continued to fuss their master, hardly even registering the visitor but for a small bright-green glance in his direction as he spoke.

The two cats were almost identical, their coats thick and soft and the purest white, save for their tails and ears which were a deep ginger, no John Paul corrected himself, it was more like a brilliant shade of gold. The only difference John Paul could discern between them was that one of them had a small dark, almost black, patch above its right eye.

"This is Malaysia," Craig said in form of introduction, tickling the first cats chin, "And this is Nikolai." Craig stroked the cat with the black marking as he said the second name. "They're Turkish Vans."

"They're what?"

"Turkish Vans," Craig repeated with a laugh, "It's the breed of cat."

"Oh I see… can't say I've ever heard of it!"

"Well they're not common," Craig said, continuing to pet the two felines, "But as soon as I saw them I just knew I had to have them…" Craig cast his eyes towards John Paul for a moment, "Sometimes you just know."

Malaysia curled her paws around Craig's hand and bit gently against his thumb, an action that had, at one time, startled Craig, but he had become to realise that the occasional love bite from his pets was only to be expected.

"Come on then you two," Craig said straightening himself and shooing the cats before him, "Let's get you some dinner and then maybe I can get some peace."

John Paul couldn't help but smile as the two felines continued to weave their supple frames around Craig's legs as he walked, threatening to topple the man at any moment.

"Just go through," Craig said to John Paul gesturing towards the living area as he led his cats into the kitchen, "I'll fix us some drinks once these two are taken care of."

John Paul watched for a moment as Craig and his two feline companions walked towards the kitchen before moving into the spacious living area.

The room was minimally furnished but with a subtle elegance that seemed to suit Craig perfectly, there was no doubting that the man had personally selected each colour and item of furniture that adorned his home. A large gilt-edged mirror dominated the wall above the marble fireplace and it reflected back an abstract painting that hung opposite it. John Paul turned to look at the picture and frowned. It looked familiar but he couldn't quite place where he had seen it before and, after a moment of staring at it, he shook his head, he was no great aficionado of art and decided that he was probably just recalling something similar that he'd seen before in a gallery.

"Now you two are going to be good aren't you?" Craig asked his cats as they sat patiently by his feet, waiting for the food that they knew would be shortly be bestowed upon them. Looking down on his two pets Craig couldn't hold back a smile. No matter what time of day or what mood he might come home in Craig could always be guaranteed a loving welcome from the two felines, a greeting that would lift his spirits and banish whatever dark thoughts had followed him home.

"He seems nice doesn't he?" Craig asked the cats earnestly as he unscrewed the lids of two small glass jars and spooned the contents into two silver bowls. The cats observed their master with such intelligence in their glistening green eyes that Craig believed they were listening to every word. "You two are so spoiled," Craig said with a laugh as he placed the dishes on the ground, tickling behind Malaysia's ears and between Nikolai's eyes as they quickly began to feast on the fair laid out before them. "Not every cat gets caviar for their dinner you know!"

John Paul stood before the large window of Craig Dean's fifth floor apartment and couldn't help but wonder how he had gotten there. The day had begun so simply with a photographic assignment just like so many others, and yet within a matter of hours it had begun to feel like his whole life had been turned on its head.

Craig made his senses spin. The man made him feel like a school boy with his first crush, like an old man beside his life long companion and, more terrifyingly Craig Dean made John Paul feel like he wanted to share with him all the secrets of his heart and he knew he couldn't do that. He could never do that. Not with anyone. Could he?

"Whiskey OK?" Craig asked as he entered the room, a glass of the golden liquid in his outstretched hand which John Paul took gladly as he turned away from the window and from his thoughts.

"Perfect," John Paul replied, sipping his drink, hoping that it would somehow calm his nerves but one look from Craig's molten chocolate eyes sent them racing again.

"Who are you John Paul McQueen?" Craig asked with his head tilted at an angle, observing the man before him closely. In his jeans and black shirt he could be almost anyone, yet there was something about the man's appearance that was more that in seemed. Craig's brain searched for a word that would describe his companion and the only one that came to mind was 'beautiful'. It was never a word he had ever associated with a man before but as soon as he thought it he knew it was right. With his dark blonde hair, dazzling azure eyes and skin as fair and delicate as any fine porcelain he really was a sight of beauty.

"I don't know what you mean," John Paul replied with an embarrassed laugh, turning away from the gaze that suddenly unnerved him. John Paul spent his life behind the camera lense, not only because he had a great talent in that field but also because he preferred to observe than to be observed and there was something about Craig's look that seemed to strip him bare.

"I don't know what it is," Craig continued, "but there's more to you than meets the eye I'm sure of it…"

John Paul turned his face back to the window and looked out over the rooftops of the city, its lights twinkling below as cars sped back and forth along the busy streets, it was a sight he had enjoyed countless time but it did nothing to quell his nerves.

"Who are you John Paul?" Craig asked again, his breath hot against John Paul's neck making the man shudder slightly. "What secrets are you hiding from the world?"

John Paul's fingers tightened around his glass as, for an instant, he let panic grip him. Craig knew! He'd worked it out, somehow he'd gotten behind the front that John Paul had worn for so many years and he was now exposed. John Paul let his eyes focus on the pane of glass before him, calming his breathing as he looked upon his own reflection and that of the dark haired man stood a few inches behind him. Of course Craig didn't know, no one knew, no one would ever know.

"I'm just a simple photographer," John Paul said with a self-effacing shrug, his eyes fixed on the dark brown ones reflected in the window.

"There's nothing simple about you," Craig breathed heavily, putting his glass down on a nearby shelf before taking John Paul's from him and placing it beside it. "There's something special about you… something that makes me want to… want to get inside you…"

Craig's hands moved to grip John Paul's hips and his teeth nipped at the man's neck as he spoke. "Really deep inside you…"

John Paul had no recollection of turning, no idea if he had moved of his own volition or if Craig had spun him around but before he knew it their mouths had crashed together with such force and passion that the kiss in the elevator paled into a mere peck.

Craig's tongue snaked into John Paul's welcoming mouth, tasting and searching, massaging the man's tongue as they both moaned into the heat between them.

John Paul could feel the cool glass of the window against his back and the heat of Craig's groin grinding into his crotch making him groan with unashamed desire.

"Let me show you the bedroom," Craig suggested, the heat of his breath bathing John Paul's ear as his teeth nipped playfully at the man's lobes.

The master bedroom was dominated by the large bed at its centre, an object that stole the focus of anyone who entered the room making them unaware of the less impressive bedroom furniture that rested against the walls.

The large wooden bedstead was topped by a deep, thick mattress which was in turn smothered in rich burgundy bedding in either satin or silk, John Paul wasn't sure which, but the sight was intoxicating, that bed obviously designed for pleasure.

Holding John Paul in place with his eyes Craig quickly stripped, his designer suit falling uncared for to the floor as if it was nothing more than a cheap chain-store copy that he stepped out of to reveal his naked glory to his guest.

John Paul swallowed heavily. Fully clothed Craig Dean was an enthralling and erotic sight but stripped bare his physical beauty took on a whole new level. John Paul drank in the sight of the dark haired man, his toned olive flesh, firm thighs, long supple legs and, although he tried not to stare, an impressively sized erection that stood proudly from its nest of neatly trimmed pubic hair.

Kicking off his shoes and socks John Paul began to fumble with his shirt buttons but suddenly his fingers had lost their ability to grip and the simple action of unfastening his own clothing had become an unconquerable challenge.

"Allow me," Craig said, reaching his hands to John Paul's shirt and seemingly melting away the buttons so that the garment slid easily from John Paul's shoulders and fell to the floor.

Craig smiled at the sight of John Paul's naked torso, running his palms over the smooth porcelain skin and following the fine trail of hair that led from his belly button to disappear inside the man's jeans.

Leaning forward Craig claimed another kiss as his hands quickly disposed of the last barrier between him and the pleasures that John Paul's body promised him.

John Paul moaned softly into Craig's hungry mouth as his jeans and boxers were pushed down over his hips and a warm firm hand stroked the length of his erection.

With a playful shove Craig toppled the fair haired man onto the bed, the thickness of the mattress making he man bounce a few times before all motion ceased.

A small sound, almost a growl, vibrated deep in Craig's throat as he observed the naked man laid out on his bed waiting for him and wanting him.

"Get comfy," Craig purred, "I'll just be a second."

John Paul shuffled into the centre of the bed as Craig raced from the room, returning seconds later with a small pot in his hand.

"What's that?" John Paul asked with curiosity as he raised his head to watch the figure of Craig Dean approach him.

"Just a bit of fun," Craig replied with a smile, "You like some fun don't you?"

Without waiting for a reply Craig peeled back the top of the small pot and, holding it high, he let the chilled fresh cream cascade down over John Paul's chest, a rich white waterfall that made the man shiver both with the temperature of the thick liquid and the heat of desire that burned in Craig's eyes.

Putting the pot aside Craig climbed onto the bed, his deep brown eyes momentarily appearing to flash with bright green flecks as he approached the cream covered man.

Lowering his face to John Paul's chest Craig lapped enthusiastically, licking and sucking against the man's flesh as he consumed every drop of cream, cleaning the man's chest and belly before pausing to raise his head and catch John Paul's eye.

The blonde man felt his cock throb at the look in Craig's eyes, he had never before witnessed such lust, such desire or such hunger and the fact that he was the focus of that stare made John Paul's groin ache.

Not breaking eye contact Craig ran his tongue slowly and hotly along the length of John Paul's cock from base to tip before feasting gently on it's head. His tongue circling the smooth glistening end and his teeth tugging gently at the man's foreskin.

John Paul groaned at the touch of Craig's lips against his sensitive flesh, his body shuddering and his fingers sinking deeply into the silken bedding.

Licking his way back up John Paul's body Craig ran the tip of his tongue over the man's lips and then nipped them gently with his teeth.

"Turn over," he breathed into John Paul's ear before moving out of the way slightly to allow the man room to follow his instructions.

Lying face down on the bed John Paul gasped as a spattering of cold cream hit his back, coating his buttocks and dribbling delightfully between them.

Once again Craig lapped up the creamy goodness, slurping noisily from the slight pool that had gathered in the small of John Paul's back.

John Paul closed his eyes and sighed with contentment as Craig's hot mouth massaged his tense flesh, teeth grazing at his shoulder blades one second and a tongue licking slowly down his spine the next.

"You taste amazing," Craig purred as he lapped the cream from the soft silken skin of John Paul's buttocks.

"Oh god Craig," John Paul groaned as a fresh trickle of cold cream ran between the two rounded hills of his ass cheeks to be quickly followed by the heat of Craig's mouth.

John Paul's groans grew louder as Craig licked and sucked the combined feast of fresh cream and John Paul's hot body, his firm tongue plundering the tight puckered opening that had been cleaned of its milky coating.

Craig's hands gripped tightly onto John Paul's ass cheeks, pulling them apart as he gorged himself between to feel the tightness of John Paul's anus begin to relax, tempting him further inside and making his cock ache with the need to take up that offer.

Reaching into a drawer of his bedside cabinet Craig grabbed a condom, which was quickly unfurled along the length of his cock and coated with the last of the cream.

Spinning John Paul onto his back again Craig took a firm hold of the man's ankles and raised them to his shoulders, lining the head of his cock with John Paul's delicious opening he pushed gently forward.

The men's eyes melted together as their breaths came in echoed gasps of pleasure. Craig's cock eased slowly into the heat of John Paul's body, stretching the man with his thickness before making him gasp as it connected with John Paul's prostate.

John Paul's legs slipped from Craig's shoulders to wrap around his waist as Craig began to drive deeper inside him, pulling out almost to the tip and then charging back inside, each forward thrust harder and faster than its predecessor making John Paul moan louder each time, desperate for more.

As he rode his lover hard Craig leant forward kissing John Paul's mouth firmly, growling with pleasure as John Paul's flesh wrapped itself perfectly around the length of his cock.

Pushing his arms underneath John Paul's body Craig showed surprising strength as he spun them both over until John Paul was above him, Craig's cock still embedded deep inside.

John Paul rose and fell against the hardness inside him, Craig's hips bucking up to meet John Paul's body as it descended, faster and harder, both men panting and gasping, their bodies slick with sweat.

Craig raised himself up to wrap his arms once again around John Paul's back, his nails clawing at the man's flesh as he teeth sank into the small of his neck.

John Paul groaned at the mixture of pleasure and pain that assaulted his body from every angle and with such intensity that it defied human experience.

John Paul's cock throbbed heavily between the men's hot sticky bodies and he wrapped his fingers around it in search of the release that felt so very close.

"Not yet," Craig said breathlessly, his fingers still clawing his lovers back, leaving deep red scratches in their wake. "Oh fuck… John Paul I…"

Craig's whole body shook as he came, slamming his cock as hard as he could deep inside John Paul's hot tight flesh, over and over again, each thrust releasing another wave of pleasure until there was nothing more his body could give.

Withdrawing his cock from John Paul's pleasured hole Craig pushed the man to his back and, with one fluid movement, took the length of John Paul's erection into his throat.

John Paul gasped and bucked his hips as Craig sucked hard against his length, the head of John Paul's cock hitting the back of Craig's throat making him gag slightly as he took it as deep as was physically possible.

"Oh fuck… oh god… yes… I … fuck…" A babble of words tumbled from John Paul's lips as his climax raced towards him, his cock pulsing its heat deep into Craig's hungry throat as the man sucked and feasted on its hot creamy excitement, drinking his lover dry and leaving him breathless and gasping for air.

"I was right," Craig said with a wicked smile as he licked his lips slowly, "You do taste amazing!"

* * *

John Paul stretched and sighed in the comfort of the large bed, smiling at the sight of the gorgeous man beside him. He couldn't remember ever having felt so physically satisfied before in his life and he felt as if he could lie there forever.

"Shit," John Paul said sitting up suddenly, "What time is it?"

Craig turned his head lazily to look at his bedside clock. "Just before midnight," he replied.

"I've gotta go," John Paul said, jumping from the bed and quickly pulling on his clothes.

"Stay," Craig suggested, touching a hand to John Paul's arm. He had never wanted to spend the whole night with someone before but he was reluctant for the night with John Paul to come to an end.

"I can't," John Paul replied as he continued to dress, "I've really gotta go…"

"Oh… I see…" Craig said deflated. "Well if you want to…"

"No I…" John Paul stopped and, crouching beside the bed, he took hold of Craig's hand. "I would stay if I could… I just… I…." John Paul bit his lip. How could he explain his prior engagement? As much as he didn't want to lie to Craig there was no way he could tell the man the truth. "I've got an early assignment and I need to get my gear organised… it's just easier if I wake up at home… you do understand that don't you?"

"Yeah… I guess…" Craig replied, sounding less than convinced.

"Look erm…" John Paul fished his wallet from his pocket and pulled out one of his business cards, turning it over he wrote a number on it. "That's my private number, call me yeah? I'd… I'd like to see you again…" John Paul felt his cheeks flush softly, a light pink hue that made Craig smile at the sight.

Snaking his hand around John Paul's neck Craig pulled his lover in for a deep kiss before getting out of the bed and slipping his fluffy white dressing gown on.

"Come on then," Craig said reluctantly, "I'll see you out."

The two men embraced again at the front door. John Paul's fingers itched to get inside the warmth of Craig's dressing gown but more pressing matters forced him to say goodnight and give his lover a farewell kiss.

After closing the door Craig wrapped his dressing gown closer around himself and padded barefoot into his living room. The joyful meows of Malaysia and Nikolai racing towards him as the two cats rushed to once again greet their owner. They weaved their silken bodies against Craig's bare legs as he fished a key from his pocket and slipped it into a lock that was almost imperceptible. The door to Craig's "study" had been designed to blend in with the rest of the wall so that any casual observer would be unaware that a room could be located beyond it.

Malaysia and Nikolai followed Craig into the room, alternating between rubbing against his legs and chasing each other, as Craig keyed in the twelve-digit code that disabled the rooms' alarm. The cats were unaware of the honour they received by being allowed access to such a room, after all they held no interest to the contents beyond the secret door, they were just happy to be wherever Craig was.

Sitting down at the large mahogany desk Craig scooped Malaysia into his lap, stroking the cat's body slowly as it purred loudly and nestled against his chest.

Nikolai amused himself by pouncing on Craig's bare toes, an action guaranteed to make the man laugh and squirm, his wriggling feet making an even more tempting target for Nikolai's attacks.

"What do we think then?" Craig asked his furry companions, "He IS nice isn't he? Should I call him again?"

Malaysia purred louder while Nikolai decided to bite Craig's big toe, both of which Craig took as signs of agreement.

Lifting Malaysia into the air Craig tiled his head back to stare into the cats discerning green gaze.

"But when do I call him? Is tomorrow too soon?"

Malaysia blinked slowly before wriggling in Craig's grasp until he finally placed her on the ground where she instantly leapt onto Nikolai's tail, biting it hard and making the other cat turn with a startled "meow" before chasing her across the room.

"There's so much I would like to show him," Craig mused as he looked around the room. There, within those four secure walls, were housed the greatest items of Craig's collection and it sometimes pained him that no eyes but his own, and those of his two feline companions, should ever see them. So many items of such great beauty that he longed to share with someone, but could John Paul be that someone?

As the cats chased each other around his feet Craig picked up the black velvet pouch that was resting on his desk and slipped its contents into his hand.

The diamond glistened, reflecting the light in a myriad of directions as he passed it from hand to hand, the cool weight heavy and satisfying as it rested in each palm.

Malaysia pounced on Craig's bare foot making him jump with a yelp, dropping the diamond onto the floor.

Nikolai pounced onto the sparkling jewel, batting it with his paw, intrigued by the way it reflected the lights as he pushed it this way and that. Seeing the other cats' new toy Malaysia gave up her interest in Craig's toes and quickly did her best to claim the precious stone from her bedfellow.

Craig watched at the cats played with the gem as if it were nothing more than a plastic ball, laughing as their backs arched and they leapt at the diamond in an attempt to beat it into submission.

"OK that's enough," Craig admonished after a while, "That really isn't for you!"

Bending down Craig retrieved his latest acquisition and placed it back inside the velvet pouch. Another item of unrivalled beauty that no one but him, and his cats, would ever see.

Closing his eyes Craig sat back in his chair. He longed to share his treasures with someone and he would love that someone to be a someone like John Paul McQueen, but how could he be sure the man would understand. How could he ever be sure?

* * *

The Knight stood on the rooftops above the city, a small smile playing over his lips as his bright blue eyes took in the scenery. It was a view so similar to one that he had witness from a window only a few hours earlier. He felt no small level of guilt that he had allowed his own pleasures keep him from patrolling the city street until late but the lure of Craig's bed had been one that was exceptionally difficult to resist.

The Knight's thoughts were interrupted by a piercing scream, a shrill sound that ended abruptly as if it had been cut off by the silencing of a large hand.

Within moments The Knight had located the source of the cry for help and was ready for action.

The young woman was pinned against a wall by two large, and frightening men, her top was torn exposing one breast and her face streaked with mascara coloured tears and she struggled in vain against her captors.

A third man was approaching her slowly, unbuckling his belt as he moved.

"I'm gonna enjoy this," the man growled in a deep rumble of a voice.

"Not tonight you're not," The Knight said as he stepped silently from the shadows. "I suggest you let the woman go and be on your way."

The thug turned to face the calm voice behind him. The entire population of the City were aware of The Knight and his reputation and the would-be rapist hesitated as he came face to face with an all too familiar costume.

Looking back towards his companions the thug tried to weigh up his options. There were three of them against this one man and, more importantly, he didn't want to be seen to lose face in front of his friends.

"I don't think so," the man replied, stepping forward and aiming a blow at The Knight's face. The Knight moved swiftly and before he knew what had happened the thug felt his arm being twisted up his back, threatening to break if it moved another inch.

"I said be on your way," The Knight repeated in a tone that was both calm and yet wholly menacing.

The other two men threw their captive to the floor and ran to their companions' aid.

Without any show of effort The Knight spun the first thug around, sending him crashing into his friends and causing them to tumble into a heap on the ground.

Each time one of them attempted to get to his feet The Knight's fist would drive them back down until they lay, beaten and breathless and unable to fight back any longer.

Pulling handcuffs from an unnoticeable compartment in his outfit The Knight fastened the three men to the drainpipe on the wall behind them; he would call the police later, when they had had time to cool down.

Kneeling down before the frightened woman The Knight adjusted her clothing to cover her chest and gently wiped the tears from her face.

"Are you alright?" He asked gently, his voice a warm and soothing melody that washed away the worst of her fears.

The woman nodded slowly, sniffling back the last of her tears, as The Knight helped her to her feet and, slipping a guiding arm around her waist he led her away from the scene of her attack, softly asking her address before taking her home, assuring that she was safe and wouldn't be alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Clare Devine clawed her scarlet fingernails through her long golden hair as she read the latest financial report. Her glossy red lips pursed together in annoyance and then parted as a frustrated scream saw the spiral bound document leave her hand and fly across the room, its sharp corner scoring a jagged cut in the forehead of her assistant as he cowered by the doorway, one hand flying up in reaction to being struck in the face by the report he had reluctantly been required to deliver to his new boss.

Tom was nineteen, fair haired, bright eyed and fresh out of college and, like all of his predecessors, he had believed that a career in the fashion industry would be glamorous.

Two weeks as Clare Devine's assistant had cured him of that illusion and, as he bent down to pick up the document at his feet, Tom regretted the day he ever walked through the doors at DevineFashions.

"It's not possible," Clare snarled, her words directed at nobody in particular, she had all but forgotten the young man who stood uncertainly in her office. Clare had no memory of her newest assistants name and likewise had no intention of learning it. She knew that he would last no longer than the others, just as she knew he would be all to easy to replace. There was always some keen bright young thing with a head full of dreams and a CV full of qualifications banging on her door with a desire to work for her. "I've done everything I can to turn this Company around."

Rising from her seat Clare strode across the polished solid oak flooring of her office and snatched the financial report from the trembling hand of the young man who was wondering if his uncles offer of a job in his building firm still stood.

"How is it possible?" Clare snapped, spittle hitting Tom's face as she spoke.

"I don't… I…" Tom stammered. Was he supposed to answer? More importantly was he supposed to know the answer? His forehead began to bead with nervous sweat and he searched in vain for the words that would placate his enraged employer. Clare's eyes seemed to burn into his soul, causing it to wither under her cold gaze, Tom raised his hand nervously to his forehead, wiping away a mixture of blood and sweat as he swallowed heavily.

"Oh get out," Clare hissed, turning her back on the young man who fled from the room in relief.

Clare flicked though the report once again, growling at each page as she tore it out and threw it onto the floor. Every graph showed a downward slope in the profits of DevineFashions as sales plummeted to an all time low. As she turned to the final page Clare closed her eyes and let the document fall to the floor, the company projections for the next few months were grim to say the least. If Clare couldn't find a way to turn things around, and soon, then DevineFashions would slip away into the past, another fashion house that didn't quite manage to make it.

Running her carefully manicured hands over her face Clare slumped back into her chair as she took in the large promotional poster on the wall opposite.

Craig Dean smiled down from the wall, his trim form snugly enrobed in the suit that was the pinnacle of DevineFashions latest collection. He looked exactly how he should, how every man in the city should want to look, so why didn't they? Why were the suits not flying off the racks? For six weeks the adverts had been splashed over every glossy magazine and billboard throughout the city, but still it made no difference. Sales were miles of their required targets and her brilliant idea of hiring the top man to front her campaign hadn't changed a thing.

Clare sighed to herself, the truth was she already knew why it wasn't working, no slick advertising campaign could make up for the lack of quality in the garments and, if Claire wanted to maintain the lifestyle she loved, she knew it wasn't going to be on the back of the failing fashion company.

But she also knew it wasn't her only option.

Picking up the telephone from her neatly ordered desk Clare dialled a number she had always suspected she would fall back on.

"Yes," the distinctly male voice on the other end of the line said curtly.

"I need your help."

* * *

Malaysia purred in contentment as she lay curled in the warmth of John Paul's lap, his right hand lazily tickling her head while he held a coffee cup with his left.

Sitting in Craig's lap Nikolai eyed John Paul with some suspicion. The blonde man seemed to have quickly become a permanent fixture in Craig's life and as such was now often in Nikolai's home, and the cat still wasn't sure if he liked that arrangement. So much of Craig's attention, which rightfully belonged to Nikolai, was now being diverted to the other human as the two men spent more and more time together.

"He still doesn't like me," John Paul said with a laugh as he nodded towards the cat on Craig's lap.

"He'll come round," Craig reassured him as he tickled Nikolai's ears affectionately, "You've already won over Malaysia!"

"Nah, I think it was all her choice." Finishing his coffee John Paul put down his cup and stroked the cat's back, her deepening purrs sending rumbles of vibration through the man's thighs.

Craig smiled as he watched John Paul lavish his attentions on Malaysia. Nikolai was always prone to jealousy when Craig had company but he didn't doubt that eventually the male cat would be as accepting as his sister. After all there was something about the blonde haired, blue-eyed man that made Craig want to keep him around so Nikolai would just have to get used to it.

John Paul's eyes caught the headline of the newspaper that lay open on Craig's coffee table.

"Did you read that?" John Paul asked nodding towards the paper.

"What?" Craig replied, his gaze following the path of John Paul's eyes. 'OCELOT STRIKES AGAIN' "Oh the robbery… err… yeah I had a quick glance."

John Paul shook his head and sighed.

"It's not like there was any real harm done," Craig said as he closed the paper over, torn between a desire to change the subject or to show John Paul the remarkable jewels that comprised his latest haul.

"Craig that Ocelot character stole a diamond necklace worth thousands… how can you say there was no harm done?"

"It's not like anyone ever gets hurt," Craig reasoned, "And it'll be insured… no one really loses out in the end…"

"What about the people who own the necklace? The insurance company? And who knows who else. Maybe no one's been hurt yet but what about when they are? It's only a matter of time…"

"No I don't think he'd…"

"Not that it matters…"

"No?"

"Well I expect The Knight will catch up with him before much longer." John Paul smiled to himself; he knew for certain that The Knight wouldn't relax until The Ocelot rested behind bars, where he belonged.

"You think?" Craig asked with a smile that he tried to hold in, "The Ocelot seems pretty crafty to me…"

"Yeah but The Knight isn't likely to let someone like that free reign in his city!"

"HIS city?" Craig asked with a laugh.

"Well you know! Damn, I should really be going," John Paul sighed reluctantly as he looked at his watch. "I'm probably already going to be late. You're a bad influence Mr Dean!"

"If you'd just stay over all night you wouldn't have to rush," Craig replied, lifting his hand from Nikolai's head to squeeze John Paul's shoulder. The cat looked up in disgust and kneaded his claws into Craig's thighs to remind the man where his priorities should lie. Craig laughed softly at the reaction as he gently caught hold of the cat's paws and unhooked Nikolai's nails from his leg.

Craig hated the way that John Paul would always dash off at some point during the night, sometimes it would be into the early hours of the morning, but always with some excuse of an early start or needing to set up some equipment or other. Excuses that didn't seem to hold water as the man often found time to stop off at Craig's apartment to share breakfast the next morning. If Craig didn't know better he would swear that John Paul was married or led a secret life. The thought made Craig laugh silently to himself, he knew all too well about living a secret life and, the truth was, John Paul returning home each night gave Craig the time to pursue his own late night activities.

"Not yet yeah?" John Paul replied as he scooped Malaysia into his arms, kissing the top of the cat's head softly, before placing her onto the floor. There were times he would love nothing more than to spend the night with Craig. To lie in the man's arms as the night moved into day, to enjoy something as normal as waking up beside the man he… He what? Loved? John Paul wasn't ready to admit it, and certainly not ready to say it, but in his heart he already knew that his feelings for Craig had grown into something far deeper than anything he had expected when they first met only a few weeks earlier. But no matter what he felt John Paul knew he couldn't allow himself the luxury of spending the night in Craig's bed, not now, probably not ever. John Paul McQueen might be his own man with his own needs and desires, but The Knight belonged to the City. "One day maybe, but not yet."

"Come on I'll see you out," Craig said with a reluctant sigh as he placed Nikolai onto the floor beside the other cat, both men getting to their feet to make the small, but seemingly inexplicably long, walk to the front door.

The second Nikolai's paws touched the ground he took the opportunity to leap on Malaysia's tail, nipping it sharply, causing the female cat to hiss and race across the room, pursued by her brother.

"You'll call me later?" Craig asked as he opened the door.

"You know I will," John Paul replied, pulling Craig into his arms for a moment and kissing his mouth firmly. "Soon as I can."

Taking a few steps into the hallway of the apartment building John Paul stopped and looked back to see Craig still standing in the doorway watching him leave.

"You gonna watch me all the way to the elevator?" John Paul asked with a laugh.

"Thought I would," Craig replied, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… you've got a nice arse!"

* * *

"You're late."

Clare sighed as she took a seat opposite the dark haired man in a quiet café a few blocks from her office.

"I had stuff to do," Clare said, placing her bag by her feet and smiling nervously. In fact she had arrived at the café in plenty of time for her meeting, but she didn't want the man to think that he was completely in control of the situation.

The dark haired man smiled. He had a variety of smiles, ones that could charm, ones that could seduce, ones of genuine humour and ones, like the one directed at Clare Devine, that told the recipient they were walking on very thin ice and had better be careful. His eyes were cold and lacking any sign of humanity, the sight made Clare shiver.

"So are we on?" Clare asked in a desperate need to get down to business, the man facing her unnerved her. She had heard the stories of the things he had done and the things he was capable of doing. He was cold, calculated, and completely heartless. He lived only for what he could get out of life, or more precisely what he could take. Casualties were not so much acceptable to him but rather unnoticeable.

Taking what he wanted had become a way of life for the man most people only knew as "The Fox" ever since, at the impressionable age of 17, he had lost his younger sister to a senseless accident. A drunk driver who had, in recompense, only served a few years of a prison sentence had mown down the pretty young girl. Hardly an adequate punishment for ending a young life and final proof, if one were needed, that there was no justice in the world. At a time when the teenage boy still had the chance to choose between right and wrong he had been convinced that life was cruel and, as a result, he might as well take whatever he could from it and to hell with the consequences.

From that day forward the young man, who had once been a hero to his sister Katy, turned to a life of crime. Within a few years his name was already known in the right, or rather the wrong, circles as the man to go to if you had a job that needed doing. No matter how dirty, if you wanted something doing and you wanted it doing quickly then Warren Fox was the man to call. And many called.

Now, in his early thirties, Warren Fox was a professional criminal. A thief, a killer or a conman, whatever he needed to be, whatever he was paid to be. The Fox was always for hire.

Warren smiled, his dark green eyes looking the pretty blonde woman up and down with a hunger that was part lust and part greed. There was no denying that he found her physically attractive and had every intention of bedding her before their transaction was completed, but he also saw in her a potential to make money, and if there was one thing Warren Fox liked more than sex it was money.

Clare squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, the few moments that Warren had been staring at her felt like hours and she just wished he would speak. His silence unnerved her and his gaze, deep and penetrating, made her feel vulnerable and exposed, almost naked before him.

"Here," Warren said finally as he handed a newspaper to the blonde woman.

"What?" Clare asked as she took hold of the folded paper and read the headlines. Another politician exposed in yet another sex scandal, Clare couldn't see the potential in such a story.

"Not that one," Warren told her, taking a hold of the newspaper and turning it to reveal the smaller story at the bottom of the front page.

"Red Death comes to Hollyoaks City," Clare read aloud, her brow furrowing as she continued to read the news that the infamous 'Red Death' diamond was due to pass through the City as part of a nationwide exhibition. "And?" Clare asked with a shrug as she got to the end of the article.

"I want it," Warren told her with a lusty smile, "Or rather someone I know wants it…"

"And?" Clare repeated.

"You're gonna help me get it!"

* * *

"That wasn't very friendly," Craig chastised gently as he fell back into the softness of his sofa and shook his finger in mock anger at Nikolai.

The cat meowed as he brushed his silken body against Craig's legs, entwining himself around them and purring loudly.

"And that wont get round me," Craig lied as he bent forward and scooped the cat onto his lap. "John Paul's nice," Craig said, looking deeply into the bright green feline eyes, "And I really like him… be nice next time he's here yeah?"

Nikolai meowed again and rubbed his face against Craig's cheek making the man laugh softly and he ran his hand along the length of the cats back.

Feeling left out Malaysia leapt onto the sofa and was soon vying for Craig's attentions, the two cats meowing loudly as they attempted to push each other from Craig's lap. Laughing Craig shooed both cats back onto the floor where they instantly shifted their attentions to each other and resumed their previous game of chase.

Craig watched his cats for a few moments, smiling as they ran and jumped around the floor, squeezing past his legs and occasionally pouncing on his bare toes. Leaning forward he picked up the newspaper from the coffee table with the intention of settling back for a relaxing read but a certain article caught his eye.

"Well, well," Craig said aloud, "The Red Death… now there's something I've always fancied getting my hands on… looks like I'll be getting my chance!"

* * *

Craig pulled his charcoal grey overcoat tightly around him to ward off the frosty Christmas Eve air as he stood outside the gothic styled museum that was exhibiting the infamous Red Death diamond as part of its tour. His eyes rested on the poster hung in the glass-fronted display case by the museums door. The poster documented the diamond's history and the various, and often gruesome, deaths that seemed to following the ruby coloured gem, a history that gave the diamond its name.

No private owner had ever managed to keep possession of the Red Death for longer than a few weeks before one unexplained accident or another would claim their life.

The most recent owner had been beheaded while skiing, his head severed cleanly from his neck and his blood staining the crisp white snow a deep crimson as he lay undiscovered for several hours. Despite a thorough investigation of the surrounding area the police had been unable to establish the cause of the freak "accident" and it was to become yet another unanswerable death linked to the diamond's curse.

The jewel was donated to the museum only days following the man's mysterious demise and since leaving private ownership no more deaths had been attributed to it.

Craig didn't believe in curses. He did believe in owning beautiful things however and, with a smile to himself, Craig pushed open the museums heavy doors and made his way to the central display room to view the item that he would soon own.

Several people milled around the glass display case that housed the Red Death, whispering under their breaths and gasping in shock and horror as they read the accounts of the numerous deaths that followed the diamond's journey around the globe.

Taking a few steps forwards Craig stopped as he noticed a familiar face leaning towards the display and whispering to the man at her side.

Clare's long golden locks fell forward as she leaned over one of the information panels, appearing to read its contents to her companion as she shook her head.

Despite knowing that he had the kind of a face that would be recognised almost anywhere he went Craig had no desire to be spotted by Clare Devine, especially not when he had less than honourable plans for the jewel she was currently studying intently.

As silently as he entered the room Craig left, there were plenty of other rooms and displays he could visit to kill time until Miss Devine was gone leaving Craig free to check out the security measures around his target with more discretion.

"Have you read some of these?" Clare asked in a nervous hushed voice, pointing at the various panels that documented the Red Death's victims. "Who the hell would want to own that thing?"

Warren laughed, his green eyes sparkling with avarice as he watched the light that seemed to dance inside the glorious red diamond. As he turned his head the lights would sway this way or that, moving to a music of their own creation inside an object of unimaginable beauty.

Unlike Craig however Warren had no real love for the ownership of beautiful things, they simply were. They existed for what they could give him. The splendour of the diamond meant nothing to him; instead it was purely a means to an end. And that end was a vast quantity of money. He didn't care about curses; he didn't care if the next owner of the diamond should die the day after he took ownership. All Warren cared about was making sure he got paid. And no one made the mistake of not paying The Fox, at least no one still living ever had.

"That's not your concern," Warren whispered in response to Clare's question, "Someone does want it and that's all that matters. Someone who's prepared to pay me a lot of money to get it for him…"

"Us," Clare corrected.

"What?"

"Us… prepared to pay US a lot of money…"

Warren grinned, a smile that made Clare take a step backwards, a smile that had the air of a predatory animal sizing up its prey. "You'll get your cut," he said after a moment, his grin widening as he spoke giving Clare a momentary vision of his glistening white teeth tearing into her throat

Closing the distance between them Warren moved forward, his fingers at Clare's neck before she had a chance to react, squeezing just a little bit, enough so that Clare could feel the calluses of his skin scratching against the delicate ivory of her throat.

Warren's cold emerald gaze made Clare shiver, his look, as well as his hand at her throat, left the woman in no doubt that he could end her life as if she were nothing more to him but a bug to be extinguished. He could kill her just was easily and with as little remorse.

Warren tightened his grip a fraction, the look of fear in someone's eyes was the greatest aphrodisiac he had ever known and watching that delicate woman tremble at his touch made Warren's groin ache. He couldn't be certain if he would get more pleasure from killing her or fucking her. But there was always the chance he could do both.

A deep cough to Warren's left reminded him that they were not alone and he let his hand fall back to his side, smiling at the red imprint of his fingers glowing against Clare's milky white skin.

"I've seen all I need to in here," Warren said gruffly, "Let's go."

Taking a few deep breaths to steady her racing nerves Clare followed the dangerous man from the room. Alarm bells rang inside her head, she knew that getting involved with The Fox was playing with fire but she also knew that she was in too deep for him to let her out now.

Clare Devine has always believed she was cold and ruthless, more than one of her husband's deaths had been somewhat advanced by her hand. But compared to Warren Fox she was a mere amateur and she knew that she had to be careful.

* * *

Craig smiled as he observed the exquisite red diamond. His fingers itched to reach inside the glass case and take a hold of the gem, to feel its icy weight in his hand and to claim an object that he was already thinking of as his.

Despite owning some truly beautiful objects, many of which were diamonds, nothing compared to the elegant beauty of the Red Death and he couldn't wait to give it pride of place amongst his collection.

It never once crossed Craig's mind that taking the item was a crime or that depriving other people of its beauty could be considered an immoral act. Quite simply he wanted it and as such intended to take possession as soon as he could.

The security measures surrounding the Red Death, although thorough, were nothing that Craig Dean hadn't encountered, and defeated, many times before. The pressure pad that would register if the gem were moved was easy to defeat, and the small markings around the base of the room indicated a series of infrared lights that would be activated at night, tripping an alarm should their invisible beams be broken. Even in his early days Craig had learned how to detect and thus avoid such things.

Craig had never really considered himself a criminal. Initially his thefts had been born more of necessity and now, although some may have called it greed, to Craig owning the beautiful things that he stole were as vital to everyday life as food or water. In many ways Craig Dean was addicted to a lifestyle he created for himself and, just like any addict, he had no intention of giving up.

Taking a look at his watch Craig sighed and, glancing back over his shoulder to the beautiful object in the glass case, he left the museum. He had an appointment with another beautiful creation.

* * *

"Right on time," John Paul said with a smile as he opened the door to his studio.

"As always," Craig replied with a cheeky grin, brushing a kiss over his boyfriend's cheek as he stepped over the threshold.

"I've just got to put a few things away and then we can go out for lunch or something."

"What sort of something?" Craig asked with a suggestive wink.

Taking his camera down from its tripod and placing it on the nearby table John Paul laughed and shook his head. Sometimes it amazed him how his dark haired lover could turn the smallest comment into a sexual innuendo, but he wasn't complaining, especially when that innuendo often turned into action.

"Oh this is for you," Craig said, holding out a large brown paper carrier bag that he had collected from his apartment on the way to John Paul's studio.

"What is it?" John Paul asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

"Nothing," Craig replied with a shrug, his arm still extended.

"Craig?"

"It's… it's just… it's nothing… a gift…"

"Craig!" John Paul repeated in an exasperated tone. "We said no Christmas presents, YOU said no Christmas presents… we agreed."

"I don't DO Christmas," Craig said with a smile as he pressed the carrier bags string handle into John Paul's hand, "Jewish remember… you did Hanukkah with me… this is just, I liked it… I thought you'd like it… now open it and tell me how right I was!"

John Paul's annoyance was minimal, and short lived, as he opened the bag to enthusiastically pull out its contents. The item that came to hand was soft, fabric and wrapped in layers of tissue paper. Peeling away the pastel coloured paper John Paul tentatively stroked the white satin beneath before holding up the shirt in both hands to admire it fully.

"It's gorgeous," John Paul said breathlessly as he ran the rich fabric between his fingers. "Really gorgeous…"

"You like it?" Craig asked nervously.

"I love it…"

"Really?"

"Really… you shouldn't have… but thank you."

Craig's face beamed with unsurpassed joy. So much of his wealth was spent on himself, or on Malaysia and Nikolai, he had never had anyone he really wanted to spoil before and he had never known how good he would feel being able to do just that.

"There's something else," Craig said with a grin, nodding encouragingly at the bag.

Reaching his hand inside again John Paul pulled out a box, roughly the size of his palm, burnished red and wrapped in cellophane with the words "Red Diamonds" and "Emporio Armani" emblazoned at apposing angles across the front.

"Aftershave?" John Paul said curiously.

"Yeah," Craig replied with a bright smile, "As soon as I smelt it I knew it was perfect for you… try it on… see if you like it…"

Craig bit his lip nervously as John Paul ripped open the cellophane packaging and slipped the diamond shaped bottle in red glass from its box. There was no denying that the irony of the fragrances name had appealed to Craig, but not as much as the scent had and, as he leant forward to experience the aroma afresh from the warmth of John Paul's neck he knew he'd made the perfect choice. The aftershave suited his boyfriend perfectly, enhancing the photographers own natural intoxicating scent so much that Craig could not resist nuzzling deeply into the man's neck.

John Paul laughed softly as Craig's hot breath bathed his skin and he pushed the model playfully away, basking for a moment in the admiring gaze from his deep chocolate eyes before feeling a pang of sadness.

"Trust me to have a boyfriend who goes away at Christmas," John Paul said with a sigh.

"It's been booked for months… If I'd known about us…" Craig began regretfully.

"I know," John Paul interrupted, "I'll just…" John Paul's pale cheeks flushed pink and he looked away from Craig's stare. "I've just got used to having you around…"

"You'll miss me," Craig teased.

"I might," John Paul replied with a small giggle.

"You'll miss me like crazy," Craig continued, digging his lover in the ribs lightly as he spoke.

"Might," John Paul said again with a deeper laugh.

"You'd better," Craig said, his tone getting more serious as he turned the blonde man towards him and looked deeply into the bottomless aqua pools of the mans eyes. "Cause I'll miss you every minute."

John Paul flushed under Craig's unwavering gaze. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before, with such complete adoration, and the stare both excited and unnerved him, it was almost as if Craig could see beyond the façade that he had carefully built up over the years. The thing that scared John Paul the most was the fact that he wasn't even certain he wanted to hide his true self from the man any longer.

Craig smiled, the small mole on his upper lip dancing joyfully and his eyes sparkling with such richness that they took John Paul's breath away.

"I'd love to take your photograph," John Paul said slowly, stroking his fingers over Craig's soft cheek and tracing the structure of the man's cheekbone.

"You have," Craig laughed, "that's how we met, remember?"

"No, I mean you… the real you, not some rubbish ad campaign."

"Come on then," Craig replied, pulling away from John Paul's touch and dropping his overcoat to the floor as he stepped onto the small stage area that dominated the studio. "I could do with some new shots for my portfolio… and I hear you're pretty good!"

Moving into the centre of the platform Craig positioned himself before the pale blue fabric that swathed the backdrop and struck a comically dramatic pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointing off to some unseen location as he gazed longingly into the distance.

John Paul laughed as he grabbed his camera from the table and pointed it at the dark haired Adonis before him.

"Work it for the camera," John Paul said between his giggles, his camera snapping at Craig as the man turned this way and that, alternating his poses as he pouted, smiled or frowned, changing from comical to sexy and back with each click of the camera's shutter.

"More," John Paul urged, crouching down on one knee and directing the camera upwards to capture his model from a different angle, "Make love to the camera."

"I can think of better things than a camera to make love to," Craig replied, loosening the buttons at the top of his shirt and ruffling his hand through his dark locks as he shot a disarmingly lusty look at his photographer.

John Paul swallowed and got back to his feet slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he continued to capture each frame of Craig's movements, immortalising the man's image in perfect digital clarity.

"God you look gorgeous," John Paul breathed, envying the path of Craig's hand as it dipped inside his shirt.

"I hope you don't look at all your models like that," Craig teased. John Paul's brilliant blue eyes had grown dark with lust and there was no denying his mind was straying far from professionalism.

"Only the really hot ones," John Paul replied with a deep throaty laugh. His palms were growing damp with sweat and he had an increasing desire to throw the camera to one side. A desire that was amplified a thousand-fold when Craig gripped the edges of his shirt, pulling it open to expose his smooth olive chest and sending buttons scattering across the studio floor.

John Paul's fingers continued their automatic pressure against the camera, snapping shot after shot as Craig slowly slipped his shirt from his shoulders and let it fall slowly to the floor, but John Paul's mind had long since forgotten that the camera was in his grasp.

As Craig ran his hands slowly over his bare torso John Paul yelped in sudden discomfort.

"Shit," the photographer gasped as his camera slipped from his hands and landed heavily on his right foot. "Ow!"

Bending over John Paul winced as he rubbed the foot that throbbed with pain.

"I'm alright," John Paul said as Craig rushed to the front of the platform and bent forward to check on his lover's cries, "I'm fine."

Despite the blonde man's discomfort Craig couldn't help but laugh at the comical sight. "Are you sure?" Craig asked between giggles, "You don't want me to kiss it better?"

"No… I don't want you to kiss…" John Paul joined in his boyfriend's laughter, their eyes melding together as a whole new pain hit John Paul squarely in the chest. "Craig…" he said, his voice a mixture of sadness and longing, "I wish you weren't going…"

"I'll be back before you know it," Craig promised, his hand brushing over John Paul's ivory cheek and sliding to the back of his neck as he leant forward and crashed their mouths together with unrestrained passion.

John Paul's pain was instantly forgotten, as he stumbled forward, tripping onto the raised edge of the stage, his hands finding their way over Craig's taught body to wrap around his back and pull the man hard against him.

Craig eased his tongue into the heat of John Paul's mouth, swirling it against John Paul's as his hands fought to disrobe the man of his shirt, its buttons rapidly scattering across the studio floor to mingle with Craig's.

The men continued to stagger backwards, tripping and stumbling over their feet as their hands sought the warmth of each other's flesh and their mouths remained glued together in a frantically passionate kiss.

There was a rip of fabric as they collided with the stage's backdrop, pulling down the material and collapsing together in a heap of bodies and soft blue fabric.

The air was filled with moans and whimpers as clothing was pushed out of the way to allow hands access to desperately throbbing erections.

John Paul gripped Craig's cock firmly, running his hand up and down the rigid length, groaning as Craig's tight grip mirrored his actions perfectly.

Craig moaned deeply into John Paul's hot kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of his lover's mouth, revelling in the taste of the other man and the overwhelming pleasure of his flesh until John Paul's perfect touch proved too difficult to resist. Craig broke away from the kiss, his head thrown back as he panted and moaned John Paul's name, his cock throbbing and pulsing its hot sticky satisfaction as his body shook with the release of his climax.

With a smile John Paul raised his hand to his face and, while never breaking eye contact with Craig, he slowly licked the thick salty evidence of Craig's pleasure from his skin.

Craig's dark eyes widened as he watched John Paul's tongue lap up the white viscous liquid until his hand was completely clean. With a gentle shove Craig pushed his lover onto his back, swallowing the man's hard cock completely before John Paul even had chance to catch his breath.

John Paul cried out as the heat of Craig's mouth wrapped around his length, his body trembling more and more, the harder Craig sucked against his cock the more John Paul moaned and writhed in pleasure until he too had no further resistance against his lover's ministrations and he came to a shuddering orgasm, it's hot essence flowing freely down Craig's throat as the model continued to suck and swallow until John Paul was completely drained.

The men lay breathlessly together, the pale blue backdrop of the stage half pulled over their semi- naked bodies as Craig rested his head against John Paul's chest, listening to the steady beat of his lover's heart.

"I'm gonna have to get going soon," Craig said quietly. For the first time in more years than he could remember Craig Dean had a reason to stay home for Christmas and, if it had just been for the sake of the price of a holiday, he would have cancelled it in a heartbeat. But Craig's holiday wasn't just a pleasure trip, there was a certain item that The Ocelot had his heart set on in his holiday location and somebody who was paying him to get it.

"Why go?" John Paul asked, running his fingers lightly over Craig's bare arm.

"Well it's booked now and…" Craig replied.

"No I mean, at all… why go away at Christmas?"

Craig sighed and turned his face to bathe in the warmth of John Paul's azure gaze.

"I've been doing it for years. It's just not a time of year I like…"

"Because you're Jewish?"

"No, not especially… it's just… well it's a family thing isn't it… and I don't have one… holidays like this, it just kinda reminds you of the fact that they're not around anymore…"

"Sorry," John Paul said apologetically, "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's OK," Craig said reassuringly as he pulled himself upright, "It's not a secret or anything… my dad left when I was just a kid… and my mum died a few years after that…"

"No brothers or sisters?"

"No, just me." Craig sighed. There were times after his father had left that the young Craig Dean had longed for a sibling or two to share the day to day task of keeping his mother going, a task that the young boy struggled to do on his own.

Johnno Dean had been, in most people's opinions, the perfect family man. Despite running his own security business he had never shirked his responsibilities of being a good father and loyal husband and had seemed to revel in the lifestyle that he had created. The man would often take his young son to work with him during school holidays, a fun pastime for the boy who loved spending time with his father, but one which served him well in his later life, as he realised that those days had taught him far more about locks and security devices, and especially how to disable them, than he had thought possible.

When Craig was thirteen years old he discovered that his father was not the perfect man he had always believed. He had found out that, not only was his father as fallible as the next man, but he was also a liar and a cheat.

For months Johnno Dean had been running his company into the ground, spending money that he didn't have and running up debts that he couldn't pay. Facts that only came to light after the man had abandoned his family in favour of a younger woman and her unborn child, his unborn child.

Frankie Dean never recovered from her husband's betrayal and, left heartbroken and penniless, she began to lean on her teenage son far more than his young shoulders could handle.

It was then that Craig Dean learned how to steal, and how to survive. In a vain attempt to make his mother smile the young man had performed his first theft, a moment that had changed his life forever.

Frankie had never questioned where her son had found the money for such a beautiful gift when he came home that day, but the exquisitely designed ocelot figurine had taken pride of place on mantle piece until the day she died. A figurine that was now kept amongst the rest of Craig's jewels, it might have been the least valuable item but it was also the most precious.

"I've really gotta go," Craig repeated as he got to his feet with another sigh.

"I guess so," John Paul agreed reluctantly, watching as the man pulled up his trousers and wrapped his now buttonless shirt around his torso.

Hauling himself upright John Paul also began to dress. "Craig?" he said after a moment.

"Yeah…"

"What's happening with the cats?"

"How d'you mean?"

"Who's looking after them…"

"Oh it's OK… they're spending a few days in a cattery…"

"Oh," John Paul said with a half relieved smile, "Cause you know I would have offered to…"

Craig laughed softly and touched a kiss to John Paul's lips. "I don't think Nikolai is ready for that just yet… do you?"

"Yeah maybe not!"

"I'll call you," Craig said as he gathered the last of his things together and slipped his arms into his overcoat.

"Make sure you do."

Cupping his lover's face gently Craig kissed John Paul with the tenderness of a man who knew it would be far too long before he would get to experience such a kiss again.

"We'll spend New Year together yeah?"

"I'd like that…"

"Oh and John Paul I…" Craig hesitated. The words were in his mouth but he wasn't sure he was ready to say them.

"What?"

"Have a nice Christmas."

"You too." John Paul smiled as Craig pulled open the studio door and left, they both knew he had been replying to the words Craig hadn't said.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't look like morning. It was more like the early part of a stormy winter night, with the sun seemingly a distant memory. The moon still hung, faintly, in the sky. The heavens were still dark, and thick, heavy dense clouds, as grey as the sea, swam overhead, like bitter, violent waves on stormy water. The blizzard had grown heavy, the large white flakes falling, as the howling winds cried out like a thousand cats wailing in the night. The ground of the columned balcony outside of Craig's bedroom was covered in a thick blanket of snow, with tiny droplets swirling like mini-tornados, before settling on the pre-laid cold white carpet.

Everything had been going well over the Christmas holidays - until New Year's Eve. Craig had never been stood up, and he had not taken the events of last night well. The two months that he had been seeing John Paul had flown by so quickly, but suddenly, Craig was annoyed with the photographer, cancelling out everything else.

Malaysia stretched out, idly, on the pillow she had positioned herself on and refused to forsake it to her annoying brother. Nikolai's tail, a deep orange that bordered on gold, darted, violently, from side to side as he surveyed his sister. His eyes narrowed, making the patch of black fur on his face more pronounced, before jumping off the bed when his sister hissed warningly at him.

On the bed, four antique plates were dotted with the left over remains of Malaysia and Nikolai's spoilt early morning feast of Belgua and Sevruga caviar, topped off with Gerber canned baby food; a broken plate lay on the floor, which had contained some discarded ordinary cat food that had been an unwelcome offer to the pampered cats, and resulted in Craig getting a scratched left hand.

The plates had belonged to an aging socialite, and formed part of her priceless Georgian collection, which she was due to send to England to go on show the following day. When Craig had given up waiting for John Paul, he had decided to pilfer the 'ugly' plates after taking a dislike to an interview he had read concerning the woman's collection.

Craig stepped into the hot water of the shower, which was shot from jets in the wall overhead. The water was hot, a contrast to the outside temperature, and the sudden warmth made him yelp. He turned the temperature up even more, and submerged his face beneath the running water. Within moments his olive skin had turned a deep pink, and his body adjusted to the slightly too hot water. He hated the cold. He shook his head from side to side, his dark brown locks flapping around slightly, splashing the walls of the wet room. Squinting slightly, as the water ran into his eyes, Craig grabbed his shower gel and squirted it, noisily, into the palm of his hand. Within seconds it had turned to foam under the water, and he cleaned his body, almost seductively, rubbing it into the contours of his chest muscles. He enjoyed exercise, and was an expert in boxing, kickboxing and an able gymnast. His body reflected this, lithe and muscular, the span of his shoulders to his narrow waist forming a perfect inverted triangle. His legs, strong and muscular, dotted lightly with dark brown hairs.

The hiss of a cat melded in with the sound of the water jets, as Nikolai skidded around the door of the bathroom, thinking twice of rushing into his owner. Instead, he rubbed himself against the doorframe before settling down to watch his owner clean himself, while he groomed his long fluffy coat, stretching his back leg out and licking it attentively.

Craig let his hands travel down to his groin, before travelling over to his buttocks, massaging them with the suds of his shower gel. He was pert, and wet, and his touch felt good. He lent his head back, feeling the hot water wash over his face and down his neck, in a rivulet that travelled down his chest and onto his hardening dick which his hand gently massaged, pulling his foreskin back to expose his sensitive end. The wet calluses of his palm felt good against the sensitive flesh, gently using the tip of his thumb to taunt the slit of his cock, before pulling his foreskin over the end and rubbing his balls. His ass cheeks pinched together as he moaned, his shoulder shuddering in please.

"Shit," came his water muffled voice as the sound of his doorbell intruded his morning shower, "I'll be right there!"

---

John Paul lent against the front door of Craig's apartment. It didn't matter how many times he visited the place, he never quite managed to feel at home. It was just a world away from anything he could have ever dreamed of owning – actually John Paul's dreams would never have even been that far fetched to dream of having those type of finances. Craig's neighbours were perhaps the wealthiest in Hollyoaks City. The apartments were that big, they might have well been houses, and even as a top model, John Paul was unsure how Craig had managed to get one. From what Craig said, it was paid for outright too.

In his hand John Paul clutched a warm bag containing muffins. He hoped Craig liked them, considering the effort he had gone to trying to find someone to make them early on a New Year's Day morning. But he had some serious making up to do.

They had planned to spend New Year's Eve together, Craig for some reason wanting to 'stop in' rather than go out. John Paul had invited him over to his own place, something he had been unsure about. Would Craig like his slightly archaic top floor studio apartment? Not that it mattered.

Some idiots had decided to break into a bank and were holding two young security guards hostage. John Paul had just been getting ready to answer the door when he was forced to duck out. By the time things had calmed down, and he had chased a trigger happy lunatic half way across the city, Craig had left him a curt note saying he 'didn't feel like waiting anymore'. He had darted off over to Craig's place just before 01.00 a.m. only to find it empty. He was just hoping Craig was in now, and up.

"Two more seconds, all right?" came Craig's angry voice from behind the door.

John Paul gasped at the sight of Craig holding the door open. The brunette model was soaking wet, and wore only a small towel, which came above his knees, wrapped around his waist. His dark brown hair looked almost black and was stuck to his scalp, a wet fringe slightly obscuring his eyes. His one arm held the door open, his muscles glistening with the dampness, while his other gripped his far too small towel shut. His legs still had rivulets of water running down them, the brown hair looking thick wet, and the small amount of hair on his chest seemed to shimmer in the light. John Paul found himself staring at the small wet hairs on his pecs, which rose and fell as Craig breathed before eyeing the double ringed bellybutton that he suddenly wanted to kiss.

Craig swallowed, angrily, and John Paul watched his boyfriend's Adam's apple move seductively. The photographer had to fight back the impulsive desire to simply say 'wow' and instead gave a limp, apologetic: "Happy New Year."

The model stood silent, his face unreadable but clearly unimpressed.

"I'm so sorry... the shoot over ran, and the snow caused a delay in the flights. I tried to call, but you didn't pick up. Was it a happy New Year's Eve?"

Craig swallowed once more, and nodded towards the bag, which made his stomach growl, despite his desire to remain aloof. "What's in the bag?"

"I... erm, don't know, exactly," smiled John Paul bashfully, shrugging his shoulders and leaning against the door frame, slightly nervous at how long it was taking for Craig to ask him inside. "I called in a favour... a baker I know, Tony, made some muffin and things."

"Last night," Craig grimaced leaning against the door and letting his towel fall slightly, exposing the line of his pelvis which led down to the exposed pubic region, "I decided we were over."

John Paul's face turned white, which shocked Craig slightly. The cold had already heightened the blonde's naturally pale skin, and yet the news had seemingly drained him of any remaining pigmentation. John Paul's azure blue eyes seemed unnaturally bright against the alabaster flesh of his eyelids, and even the normally faint eyelashes suddenly looked that bit more bright.

"Did you..." John Paul sighed, more a pitiful realisation than a question, as he stepped back limply, and deflated. He suddenly wished he had hit those lunatic robbers slightly harder, but then he knew it wouldn't solve anything. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be. John Paul shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, in a flat voice: "I'll leave then..."

"No! Damn you," Craig hissed as his face flashed with annoyance, bringing his whole body alive as he leapt forward. John Paul's alabaster cheeks took on more colour as Craig's towel dropped to the floor, exposing his swinging manhood and pendulous low hanging balls. He laced his fingers into John Paul's collar, grabbing the warm bag of pastries, and pulled his annoyingly good looking boyfriend inside. "The least you could do is stay for breakfast John Paul McQueen!"

"If that is what you... want, I guess...."

John Paul's feet desperately tried to manoeuvre around Nikolai's twisting, lithe frame as the cat he had failed to win over suddenly decided to attack him. John Paul could honestly say there was nothing about Craig he would want to change, but the same could not be true for his boyfriend's pampered tomcat. Nikolai's head disappeared between his legs, and all John Paul could see was the cat's golden orange tail, swaying between his legs as the cat hissed and meowed in protest at his arrival. He watched as Malaysia darted along the hallway, jumping up onto a small table, knocking what looked suspiciously like an antique Tiffany lamp to the floor, purring with delight. Why couldn't Nikolai purr when he saw him?

"And tonight," Craig answered firmly, rounding up on John Paul, "we're going out!"

"Okay..." John Paul whispered, before pointing at the lamp now handing by its wire, centimetres from the floor. "Craig, your lamp..."

Craig shrugged as he looked in the bag, before handing it back to John Paul, smiling wickedly. "I best go and get dressed...you know, me being naked and all..."

John Paul laced his arm around Craig's waist, and happily kissed the olive skinned man's neck. "Happy New Year, Craig Dean..."

John Paul cupped his boyfriend's chin, and raised Craig's head up as he placed his lips against the models. Craig was slightly surprised at the sudden kiss, but quickly adapted to the warmth of the photographer's kiss, igniting the warmth of their passion. Craig melted back into the kiss of the dark blonde haired man, that could drive him to distraction and absolute arousal. Instinctively, he opened his mouth and accepted John Paul's tongue; letting it circle his mouth and encourage his own to journey into the hot blonde's wet mouth. He heard his cats meow, in protest at the diverting of attention away from them, but was lost in the growing heat of his groin.

"So," John Paul smiled throatily, "do you want me to get some plates, or..."

Pushing John Paul back, Craig grabbed his towel and rushed to the bedroom at the sound of the word plates, telling his boyfriend he needed to get dried and that he was to go and put the muffins on some plates from the 'top cupboard' in the kitchen. Stood, watching Craig's ass cheeks move as he sprinted back towards his master bedroom, John Paul couldn't help but smile despite the odd behaviour. "Models..." John Paul whispered, fussing Malaysia while kicking away Nikolai's attacks.

"Craig..."

Craig moved, panicking around his bedroom, stuffing his dark black 'night clothes' into a trunk and scrapping together the plates from his late night activities. Why did everything take so long, when you were short of time? Finally, slamming the lid down, and turning the key he breathed a sigh of relief as John Paul opened the door, bearing muffins.

"You're still undressed?" John Paul smiled sitting down on the large bed, eyeing the tins of caviar and baby food.

"I'm a free spirit!"

"Caviar and baby food?" he remarked looking down at the tins and then to muffins as Craig forced one into his mouth. "Craig, you know, I see a lot of models... and sometimes food is erm... you know if there was a problem, or anything..."

"Shut up, John Paul," Craig laughed pouncing on his boyfriend, straddling the blonde man beneath him. Craig licked his lover's check, and then bit down on John Paul's bottom lip, before feeding his tongue into John Paul's mouth and kissing him, deeply. "You got me very mad last night - and you have a lot of making up to do..."

"So we're not 'over'?"

"That depends, on just how much you grovel..."

"I can do that," John Paul winked kissing Craig's mole crowned upper lip.

"And by the way," Craig said punctuating his words with kisses, "I don't have an eating disorder - my cats do, they have overly expensive taste!"

John Paul made a trail of soft, warm butterfly kisses before grabbing the model's dick, and gently squeezing it before stroking it slowly. A bead of pre-come leaking out of Craig's piss slit, the firm member, dark, hard  
and veined. "You like?" Craig growled.

"You look like a fucking rock star!" laughed John Paul.

Craig reached up and stroked John Paul's shirt covered chest. John Paul slid his hands down Craig's torso, pulling at his lover's flesh, kneading it. His eyebrows were pulled down in concentration. A ray of sunlight,  
laced with dust motes, fell on them, making Craig's damp skin glisten. John Paul lent down and kissed his boyfriend lingeringly.

Locking his eyes intently with John Paul's, Craig watched as the photographer's mouth grew into an easy smile, rubbing Craig's dick over his face, and smearing his pale cheeks with pre-come.

John Paul, slowly, swallowed Craig's dick, taking the girth easily. Craig started to hump his hips. John Paul released the dick from his mouth and began sucking on Craig's balls, stroking his lover's dick. He worked his  
tongue around each ball, giving them a good washing. John Paul returned the excited meat to his mouth, sucking so deeply that his cheeks hollowed. He licked Craig's dick head with his tongue, before gnawing at the length, showering it with kisses.

John Paul took hold of his lover's dick and swallowed it. Slowly, he worked it down his throat, inch by inch, until his nose was in Craig's dark pubes. John Paul's head began to bob backwards, and forwards, and  
each time he came back he took Craig's dick fully into his welcomingly wet mouth. Craig held on to his boyfriend's head, just running his fingers through his hair, slowly moving his hips back and forth, his groans  
reverberating through his throat.

"Shit..." Craig groaned as his ass cheeks clenched, and the roller coaster of orgasm overcame him. John Paul sucked hard, swallowing Craig's come wave after wave after wave, as if it were Manna from Heaven itself.

John Paul fell back with a big grin on his face that screamed 'okay, do me now'.

Craig shook his head, panting and rolled onto his stomach, fixing his wry chocolate eyes on his lover's. "You've got more making up to do, Mr. Photographer."

"I just gave you... I sucked you off... come on, you can't tell me that you didn't enjoy that?"

"I did, very much. But I didn't ask you to. Muffin?"

"Craig!" John Paul whined, before being silenced by the hot brunette pouncing on him.

"Come on JP," Craig growled from the back of his throat, "you know, I make the rules, and you love it. Now, you want more, earn it!"

John Paul smiled, suddenly feeling like the ball of string Malaysia often played with, and he would happily let Craig toy with him. He liked it! "How?"

"Make me want it, more than anything... and then say 'no'... and then I'll take it, and you'll love me for it!"

John Paul arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early. Craig had made the reservation at an upscale over priced restaurant, and the maitre d' showed him to a small table in a private alcove, beside a wall sized aquarium holding tropical fish that floated tranquilly in the deep blue water. He idly watched a clown fish drift in and out of a cloud of pink sea anemones.

The restaurant was full of Hollyoak City's leading society - old society, and new, mixing awkwardly. John Paul used his fingers, hidden in his pockets, to count the number of faces he had photographed. He was probably the most in demand photographer this side of New York, and yet he never felt comfortable in the 'blue blood' crowd. He was just the hired hand - and yet Craig fitted in so easily, despite being so different to other  
models and socialites.

Craig's BlackBerry bleeped as he entered the restaurant, brushing off the advances of two young 'up and coming' female models dining with their sugar daddies. Reading his e-mail, he bit down on his lip. He had  
forgotten that he had agreed to fly out to Paris tomorrow for the new Jean-Paul Gaultier shoot. It had been a last minute decision, and fuelled by his annoyance and temper at John Paul's no show. He didn't fancy telling John Paul about that, certainly not as he eyed his boyfriend over. John Paul was wearing the white satin shirt he had bought him.

"Knight in white satin," Craig whispered to his lover.

"Knight?" John Paul retorted, turning around flustered. Knight? Why did Craig call him that? How did he know?

"You're wearing the shirt," Craig leaned in, "and the after shave... you're spoiling me!"

"Got to get the grovelling just right, eh?"

Sitting down, Craig narrowed his eyes, taking in the azure beauty of his boyfriend's eyes. They sparked like the most beautiful sapphires, and Craig wanted them more than anything ever. A twinge in his stomach made  
him wince. What was it about this man that got him so worked up that it could physically hurt?

Could it be that John Paul might get him? People knew his face as a model, but knew his deeds under the name of the Ocelot just as well. Craig used the tag to give him an edge, not to obliterate his own identity. Ocelots were his mother's favourite wild cats. He loved being the Ocelot, but only because that was the real Craig Dean. He stole compulsively because somehow stealing saved him; it expressed him, fully. Craig Dean was the man in black, the man who could disable alarms and CCTV cameras with ease, break into any safe (even into the stock market itself), and he always got away with it.

Somehow, John Paul seemed to understand that; like there was something deeper, secretive and dark there too.

John Paul couldn't help but wonder why, when Craig's eyes pierced him, he felt like nobody could touch him. Craig Dean understood him in a totally new way; a way John Paul had long dreamed of, and yet also feared. Craig made him vulnerable, and yet invincible. Was this the man to see the face of the Knight, see beyond the camera's lies? Something gave John Paul hope, for the first time in a long time. Perhaps the Knight, John Paul,  
had finally met his hero - the man who could see his real worth. Who he really was, beneath the two costumes he wore day and night.

Craig ordered a large plate of Sushi, and shocked his boyfriend by feeding the wrapped raw fish into his mouth, completely ignoring the stares of others.

"What were you thinking about, earlier, when you were looking at me?" John Paul asked, licking the soy sauce from his lips.

Craig smiled, a wry smile. It wasn't the right time to tell him the exact truth, but he had been thinking something he wanted to share with the man he was falling in love with. "John Paul, why do you stay in Hollyoaks City?"

"I left once," John Paul admitted shuddering at the thought that he once believed he could desert the place he promised to look after. "But I was drawn back. I made a promise to... do something with myself, here."

"It's such a big world," Craig smiled, "and lets face it, Hollyoaks City isn't exactly anything special. What would it take let go...?"

John Paul shivered at the idea; not because it scared him, or because it made him feel guilty but because of the ease with which the answer came to him, and also because Craig looked suddenly scared for the first time that  
curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"Honestly?" John Paul asked.

"No. Lie to me!" Craig smiled, half-lying and half telling the truth. "I know places. Paris. Milan. New York. London. Things we could do... together..."

John Paul leaned over, and kissed his boyfriend deeply, feeding his tongue into Craig's mouth. Their tongues dancing together as John Paul almost knocked the table over, pulling Craig forward into is kiss.

"Mmm... just like that..." Craig whispered.

"You. It would take you..."

"Then why do you look so scared?" asked Craig.

"Because," John Paul sighed, "I'm in love with you Craig. I'm in love with you...and it scares me..."

"Finish your sushi. We're going home," Craig smiled. "And I'm scared too."

"Just scared?" John Paul asked slightly deflated. No, 'I love you'.

"Look into my eyes John Paul," Craig laughed, "do you need words? I love you too."

And it was there, in the chocolate brown pools. Craig Dean loved John Paul McQueen.

---

Craig sighed as he pulled the black jumper over his head and smoothed the material down over his flat stomach.

He had only been back in the country a few hours. The Jean-Paul Gaultier shoot, that he had regretted agreeing to, and the flight back from Paris had seemed endless and the sound of the plane's wheels finally hitting tarmac echoed in Craig's ears like music.

At last he was home and could spend the evening with John Paul. Just a few days earlier they had both been able to admit how they felt only for Craig to leave the country the following morning.

Craig's frustration at the situation had made him catch an earlier flight than he had originally booked, and race over to John Paul's apartment without even going home to freshen up.

Craig hadn't called ahead, thinking that his early return would be a surprise for his blonde lover.

John Paul wasn't home.

A call to John Paul's cell phone had given Craig the disappointing news that the photographer was not due back until the early hours of the morning as he was working on a night-shoot on the outskirts of town.

After pacing his apartment for fourty minutes Craig decided there was only one thing to do.

He had worked out the plan meticulously and the display was due to leave town in only a few days.

It was time for Craig to take possession of the latest jewel to catch his eye.

Straightening the mask over his face Craig smiled behind it. It was time for the Ocelot to go to work.

---

The Ocelot moved silently through the museum, his small flashlight in one hand casting a pin-point of illumination ahead of him as he headed quickly to his destination. Despite the multitude of treasures that he passed there was only one target, one goal. Nothing else had captured the Ocelot's desires like the beautiful red diamond that was almost within his grasp.

The museum's alarm had been laughably easy to disable. It was almost if they wanted to be burgled, the Ocelot had thought to himself as he slid in through a high window and dropped, cat-like, to the ground. Pausing on his haunches to make sure that no unseen security device had been tripped, that no alarm he hadn't accounted for had been triggered.

All was silent and the Ocelot was quickly on the prowl.

---

John Paul threw his camera bag onto the sofa and sighed. Craig was home early and every inch of the photographer wanted to grab his phone and tell the man to meet him at his apartment, immediately. But John Paul had other commitments, other duties that he couldn't dismiss, as much as the lure of being with Craig wanted him to.

For a long time being the Knight had fed John Paul's soul. It gave him focus and reason. It made him feel alive. At least he had thought it had until he met Craig. Now he knew how being alive really felt. The alive of a gentle touch, the alive of a kiss that made him tremble for more and the alive of two deep brown eyes that looked at him and spoke of love. That was how being alive was supposed to feel.

A few days earlier Craig had talked of leaving Hollyoaks City, just the two of them with the whole world laid out at their feet.

John Paul was afraid that Craig might suggest it again because he knew that the model could persuade him to abandon everything he believed in, everything he had committed himself to. John Paul was afraid that Craig might never mention it again and the photographer would always be left wondering what might have been.

Watching himself closely in the mirror John Paul quickly donned the armoured clothing that was kept locked securely in a trunk at the back of his wardrobe.

Pulling the black metallic mask down over his eyes John Paul ceased to be and the Knight was once again ready to patrol.

---

The door to the central display room creaked softly as the Ocelot pulled it towards him, and he paused momentarily, his breath still as he waited to see if the sound had alerted anyone to his presence. Three security guards patrolled the museum at night but thanks to Craig's careful planning the Ocelot had arrived when none of them should be anywhere near his target for at least five minutes. And five minutes was plenty of time for an experience thief to claim his prize and vanish into the night without anyone ever seeing him.

Once certain that he was alone the Ocelot turned the dial on his customised flashlight to a setting which instantly illuminated the infrared beams that laced the display room floor and he padded on silent feet, stepping carefully over each deep blue strand of light, to the central display cabinet. He was almost salivating as he approached, his fingers itching to feel the cool weight of the glittering stone in his hand, making him wish he could rip off his gloves and wrap his bare fist around the gem.

The Ocelot reached out one hand to the glass covered display and froze. It was gone. Where the beautiful gem should have stood there was a large grey rock, roughly the same size as the missing diamond but with none of its staggering beauty. His eyes flicked over the noticed that told of the dates that the Red Death would be on display, looking for some indication that it had been removed early, but there was nothing. The Red Death should still be there but it wasn't. Instead there was nothing but a rock, a rock all too similar to the one that the Ocelot had in his backpack. A rock just like the one he had planned to leave in place of the gem after he removed it.

The Ocelot snarled, an almost feline hiss exhaled through his gritted teeth, as his hands balled into fists. It was only years of concentrated discipline that prevented him from smashing the glass of the display case in frustration. But The Ocelot was nothing if not controlled. He knew that stealth and calm were his friends, anger and impulse would only serve to land him in jail and The Ocelot was one cat who never planned to be caged.

Grinding his teeth together slowly The Ocelot looked once again into the cabinet that should have contained his prize, a prize that had been unceremoniously snatched right from under his nose and The Ocelot knew of only one other thief capable of such a feat.

Stepping carefully over the infrared beams The Ocelot backed out of the room, retracing the steps that gleefully led him into the room, but now his feet felt heavy and the disappointment of failure weighed him down.

The Ocelot had been bested by the slyest of creatures, but only for now. He had no intention of letting The Fox take something that, in The Ocelot's mind at least, was rightfully his.

Closing the window behind him The Ocelot made his way across the museum's rooftop from where he would scamper into the night, no one even aware that he had been there.

What The Ocelot didn't know was that someone was aware of his presence and, even as he began his casual stroll through the city's skyline, another figure was hot on his tail.

---

The large clock above the Town Hall chimed 1am, the sound reverberating through the silent streets. A fine rain had begun to fall, little more than a mist, as if the deep grey clouds above did not possess enough strength to truly drench the city below.

The black of The Knight's armoured clothing glistened with droplets of moisture that clung to its surface, reflecting back the beam of moonlight that snuck through a gap in the cloud cover.

The night had been quiet, painfully so, and the man inside The Knight's costume had been pacing the city streets restlessly, searching for something, anything, to justify his presence.

John Paul McQueen had wanted nothing more than to stay home, to share his bed with his sexy model boyfriend and to enjoy being normal.

The Knight needed to patrol, to be ready to protect the city that he loved and to be a hero.

Frustration had begun to mount inside the man's chest, almost an anger that he had sacrificed his own happiness for a city that didn't need him. It was then that he saw it. A movement that shouldn't have been there. Imperceptible to most, but to the highly trained eye of The Knight it was a call to action.

---

The Ocelot was nearing the edge of the rooftop when a sound behind him made him hesitate. It could have been anything, a gust of wind blowing a leaf, a piece of litter making it's lazy way towards the guttering, a hundred different innocent things making the soft sound that pricked at The Ocelot's ears.

But The Ocelot knew instinctively what, or rather who, had created the whisper of sound behind him even before he had finished turning around.

The Knight had reached the rooftop in seconds, his feet devouring the metal fire escape silently as his eyes remained fixed on the shadowy figure of the man he had long believed he was destined to meet. Not only to meet, but to defeat.

The two men stood in silence, facing each other, neither sure who should be the one to make the first move. They had long been aware of each other's presence in the city, longer even than the city's residents at large and, despite being on opposite sides of the law, each held a begrudging admiration for the other.

"So." The single word, although spoken softly, seemed to shatter the peace of the night. The Ocelot's voice held a strange tone as if it wasn't quite human, a small device strapped to the man's throat making his vocal chords vibrate at a different tempo to normal and changing the sound completely. Although The Ocelot was seldom confronted he had decided early in his career to leave nothing to chance. The more famous the model Craig Dean became the more The Ocelot had to be certain that no one would ever discover his identity, not for any reason. He would not be caught out by something as simple as having his voice recognised.

"The Ocelot," The Knight said slowly with a tilt of the head, his voice deep and with no hint of accent as it was filtered through the mouthpiece of his visor. Just like The Ocelot he had taken precautions to remain as anonymous as possible. The world did not need to know that The Knight was in fact a successful photographer named John Paul McQueen.

"You recognise me… I'm flattered," The Ocelot replied with a laugh.

"Don't be."

"Something tells me you're not going to play nice."

"I don't play games with criminals," The Knight said taking a firm step forward.

"Not even a little game? I promise to make it fun." The Ocelot laughed again. He wasn't sure what he was doing but there was something about The Knight that intrigued him. Despite knowing that he should be making plans to elude the armoured man The Ocelot found himself wanting to stay and talk to the man, or was it flirt?

"Hand it over," The Knight said calmly. He had often imagined finally coming face to face with the one criminal that Hollyoaks City seemed unable to stop and it had never gone like this. Where was the violence, the fighting or the threats? And more importantly why did he find the man who he considered his nemesis strangely appealing?

"I don't know what you're talking about," The Ocelot replied innocently.

"Whatever you've stolen from the museum, hand it over…"

"Not guilty your honour," The Ocelot teased, reaching out his hands in a gesture of innocence. "But you can search me if you like… I usually keep my stash down the front of my pants!"

The Knight closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as he conjured up the face of Craig Dean. The man's bright smile and deep chocolate eyes soothed him and he quickly banished all unwelcome thoughts of attraction for this strange thief standing before him.

"Just hand it over and come quietly…"

"I never come quietly," The Ocelot said, his voice laced with innuendo, "Where's the fun in that?"

"Ocelot. The game's over, you lose…"

"But I was just having fun… and I never like to lose."

"Too bad cause you have."

"You think?"

"I'm taking you in Ocelot."

"You've got to catch me first."

"You think you can get away from me now?"

"I know I can… sorry Knight, it's been fun… but I guess you're just not my type!"

The Ocelot moved with lightening speed as he leapt into the air, his feet slamming into The Knight's chest sending the man staggering backwards. But such a blow was nothing to The Knight and he quickly rounded on his opponent ready to fell the man and end The Ocelot's reign of crime.

"Sorry," The Ocelot said as he pulled his flashlight from his pocket and, with a quick flick of his wrist adjusted the setting to a brilliant beam of light that seemed to scorch The Knight's eyes with a burning heat. "Hurts like hell," The Ocelot explained as he scampered away from his would be captor, "But it's only temporary, you should be able to see again in a couple of hours."

"I will catch you," The Knight called out as tears streamed from his temporarily blinded eyes.

"Not in this lifetime," The Ocelot's voice replied, fading away as he descended from the rooftop.

"We'll see…"

"Looking forward to it."

---

John Paul groaned as he stretched and turned over in his bed.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so rough. Over the course of the years he had trained himself to thrive on the few hours of sleep he grabbed after his night patrols, considering anything more than three hours to be a luxurious lie in. But after staggering back to his bed blinded and in pain at some time after 3am John Paul had found no rest and now, at nearly 10am, he still felt as bad as he had when his head first hit the pillow.

With another groan the photographer rubbed at his eyes. If felt as if they had been filled with sand, which scratched grittily against his tired eyeballs as he rubbed his slightly swollen lids. The visor of the mask he wore as The Knight might serve to protect his identity, but it hadn't kept out the strange piercing light that seemed to scorch at his eyeballs and leave him helpless.

John Paul's eyesight had all but returned, the remnants of the bright light flashing in the corners of his eyes if he looked to the left or the right and a deep throbbing ache at his temples.

With a sigh John Paul threw back his duvet and swung his legs over the side of the bed, with a gasp of shock and annoyance he saw the attire of The Knight strew across the bedroom floor. He cursed himself for being so careless. He had always vowed that, no matter how tired he might be, no matter what might have happened, The Knight's clothing would always be secured away before bed. Growling at himself John Paul secreted the outfit away in its chest.

Padding barefoot and naked into the bathroom John Paul took in his reflection.

He felt rough.

He looked worse.

His eyes were bloodshot and puffy and his natural pale complexion seemed to make their redness even more prominent.

Splashing cold water onto his face John Paul sighed, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so… so wrong.

It wasn't the pain and discomfort that haunted the blonde man; it wasn't the throbbing of the headache or the occasional shooting lights in his eyes.

The Knight had been bested.

He had underestimated his opponent believing that once he had The Ocelot in his sights the game was won.

He had been wrong.

The Knight had been beaten and he hated it. As John Paul turned his pink-tinged eyes to his reflection he vowed that he would never make that mistake again.

The next time he met The Ocelot The Knight would take him down, whatever it took.

---

Craig Dean lay half slumped on his sofa, a position he had taken upon his return home in the early hours of the morning, not having the energy or desire to make it to his bed.

Stripping out of the tight black garb of The Ocelot the man had wrapped his midnight blue satin robe around his naked form, locked the discarded clothing away and collapsed onto his sofa with a disgruntled sigh.

Craig hadn't really slept, but rather dozed off and on for several hours, his dreams constantly assaulting his senses as a grey growling figure lurked in the background of his mind, ever present, waiting to pounce. Waiting to tear out his throat.

Craig wasn't used to the overwhelming sense of disappointment that seemed to have wrapped itself around him like a tight smothering blanket. He should be feeling elated right now. He should have a glistening new prize, the star of his collection, the beautiful and mysterious Red Death diamond that he had coveted from the moment he had first seen it.

He should be basking in the glory of another success but instead that joy had been snatched from under his nose and he felt… wrong.

The Ocelot had been bested.

He had allowed another to swoop in and take that which was rightfully his and the thought angered him in a way he had never experienced before.

"Mrrow…" Nikolai's voice was low and plaintive as he nudged at Craig's arm, trying to get the man's attention in a quest for food or affection, either would suffice as Craig had blanked his feline companions since he got home.

"Leave it out," Craig snapped at the cat, shoving Nikolai unceremoniously to the floor.

The cat let out a small yelp of surprise and turned his deep green eyes accusingly to the man who had only ever shown him gentleness.

"Well I told you," Craig said in response to the cat's glare, "I just need some peace…"

Nikolai let a low disapproving growl rumble in his throat as he stalked away in search of his sister, never once looking back at Craig as the man leant forward and called to his pet.

"Come on Nikolai," Craig coaxed, "You know I didn't mean it… how about I open you some caviar eh? You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Nikolai pounced on Malaysia's swishing tail, causing her to hiss and spin around to face him. Within seconds the two cats were chasing each other across the room apparently oblivious to Craig's presence or rather more likely, totally ignoring it.

Watching his pets play Craig felt a growing sense of guilt. Since the day the two felines came into his life he had never so much as raised his voice to them, but then never before had he felt so beaten, cheated.

Craig knew that eventually Nikolai would forgive his harshness but, in the meantime, he knew that there was only one thing, one person, who could make him feel better. Picking up his telephone Craig dialled a number that had become engrained in his mind.

"Hi it's me…"

"Craig… Good to hear you…" John Paul's voice sounded distant and a little groggy.

"I didn't wake you did I?"

"No, it's fine," John Paul replied, the sound of the models voice soothing his pains in a way that the painkillers he had taken were unable to. "What you up to?"

"Nothing much… thought we could make up for last night. You fancy coming round?"

John Paul thought for a moment. After his encounter with The Ocelot he knew he should probably take it easy for the day, but it had already been far too long since he had seen the man he recently declared his love for.

"I'll be there in ten…"

"See if you can make it five!"

---

"You're late," Craig said with a grin as he opened the door to his apartment, stepping back with a swish of his satin robe to allow the blonde man to cross his threshold.

Looking at his watch John Paul shrugged. "It's only been twelve minutes!" he said with a laugh.

"You were supposed to be here in five…"

"Blame the traffic…"

"Any excuse!"

Looking down at his feet John Paul noticed something was missing. For the first time in all of his visits to Craig's home there were no cats rubbing against, or scratching at, his ankles on his arrival. Malaysia was normally only seconds behind Craig in welcoming John Paul into the flat, just as Nikolai would then make it clear seconds later that his presence was merely being tolerated.

"No cats?" John Paul asked curiously.

Craig nodded in the direction of the living room. "They're not talking to me."

"Not talking?" John Paul replied with a laugh.

"I shouted… They'll get over it!"

Leaning forward Craig touched his mouth firmly to John Paul's lips, the heat of the photographer's kiss melting away the annoyance of the previous night, at least temporarily.

Pulling back from the kiss Craig led John Paul into the main living room where John Paul shrugged off his jacket and dropped it onto the back of the sofa.

Tilting his head Craig frowned slightly. "So what's with the new look?"

John Paul raised one hand self-consciously to his dark glasses. They had seemed somewhat out of place in the dull January morning as he drove to Craig's apartment but even the muted sunlight had been painful to his damaged eyes. But now, in the subdued lighting of Craig's apartment the glasses were verging on ridiculous and John Paul knew he would have to take them off.

"I just…" John Paul couldn't think of an explanation as he slipped the darkened glasses from his face.

"John Paul what's happened?" Craig asked with deep concern, touching one hand to his lover's face.

"It's nothing… really," John Paul reassured, trying to turn his face away from Craig's gaze.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Craig replied, "It looks like… you've… have you… John Paul have you been crying?"

"What? Don't… don't be ridiculous… of course I haven't…"

Craig looked at John Paul's pink puffy eyes and raised his eyebrows. The white of John Paul's eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids were slightly swollen.

"If something's happened to make you cry you can tell me you know," Craig said gently.

John Paul shuffled his feet uncomfortably, gripped with a momentary urge to tell Craig the truth but he couldn't quite manage it and the combination of Craig's concerned stare and John Paul's need to lie made the blonde's insides twist making his words come out sharp and angry.

"I'm not five Craig," John Paul snapped, "I'm not a child… I'm hardly the sort of person who goes around crying am I? It was just a late night and I've got sore eyes. OK?"

"Well pardon me for being concerned," Craig replied, his rich brown eyes flashing with hurt, "But if something's upset my boyfriend I'm going to want to know about it…"

"Your what?" John Paul asked with a soft smile.

"What?"

"You just said boyfriend…"

"No I didn't…"

"Craig I heard you… you just called me your boyfriend…"

"Well what if I did?" Craig's cheeks flushed and he turned his head away to hide his embarrassment.

"So is that what I am then?" John Paul said in a gentle teasing tone, "Am I your boyfriend."

Craig peered at John Paul through his long dark lashes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took a step closer to the photographer.

"Do you want to be?" Craig asked coyly.

"I asked first…" John Paul said with a seductive grin.

"You know you are," Craig replied, his voice noticeably deeper and his breath hot against John Paul's mouth, "All mine…"

Craig's dark eyes almost seemed to flash green for a second as he pulled John Paul hard against him, their mouths clashing together in a ferocious kiss, devouring each other with a passion greater than either had ever felt before.

John Paul groaned into Craig's mouth, his tongue dancing with pleasure inside it as Craig's hand began to massage his groin firmly, causing John Paul's cock to grow longer and harder within seconds and making it pulse and throb in its need for more attention.

With a swift movement of his hand Craig quickly found his way inside John Paul's trousers, his fingers toying and teasing the man's hard thick cock, causing John Paul's body to shudder with the sensations that were somehow not only located in his groin but rather raced through every fibre of his body.

Craig's touch seemed to send an electric current coursing to the end of each of John Paul's nerves, and his hot hungry kiss made his senses reel until all he could think, feel or know was Craig. The blonde man's moans grew deeper and more feral as Craig's hand stroked his cock hard and fast, masturbating him vigorously, almost roughly, Craig's breaths coming in hot heavy pants matching those of his lovers.

"Oh god Craig," John Paul gasped, his lips still only a fraction of a breath from Craig's mouth, "You're… you're gonna make me come if you keep doing that…"

"Good," Craig replied, moving his mouth to whisper hotly in John Paul's ear, "I'm gonna make you come hard… and then I'm gonna fuck you hard… cause you're mine John Paul… you're mine…"

"Oh fuck…" John Paul moaned as Craig's teeth sank into his neck, his cock hot and throbbing in the models hand. His whole body seemed to tense with the rapid approach of his climax, his balls suddenly heavy as if weighed down by the need for release.

Craig's teeth pierced John Paul's skin and the taste of copper filled his mouth as he sucked against the wound. An animalistic growl filled his throat as John Paul's moans echoed around the room, the man's body convulsing as he cried out.

Craig's grip grew tighter, his hand moving faster as he milked every last drop from his lover's cock, its hot sticky essence scorching his fingers.

John Paul slumped against Craig, the presence older man the only thing keeping him on his feet.

"Fucking hell…" John Paul gasped as he tried, and failed, to regain his composure. He had never known an orgasm like it, it was rough, animalistic, brutal… it was amazing.

Without a word Craig turned his lover from him, allowing John Paul to find support for his still shaking legs by holding onto the back of the sofa as Craig eased the man's trousers and underwear down to his knees.

Pulling away the tie of his robe Craig gripped his cock with the hand that was still covered in John Paul's come and coated it with the still warm substance. He growled with pleasure as he rolled his foreskin back and forward, precum oozing from the tip of his cock as he took a step towards John Paul and rubbed the head of his cock along the groove between the man's ass cheeks.

"You're mine," Craig said again as he pushed his cock against John Paul's tight puckered opening and drove the length of his cock hard and fast into the younger man's body. There was no time to be gentle or to ease his way inside his lover slowly. He needed to fuck John Paul hard and fast, he needed to claim him.

John Paul cried out as Craig's cock filled him, his knuckles whitened as he gripped onto the back of the sofa and he pushed back against the invading member willing Craig to force it as deep as it could go until Craig's balls were slapping hard and fast against John Paul's tight ass and the men were grunting and panting in time.

Craig's fingers held tightly onto John Paul's milky white hips, turning the flesh pink with his firm hold as he watched his cock slam in and out of the man's body, he knew he wouldn't last long but that didn't matter, there would be plenty of times to make love long and slow but this wasn't one of them.

"Fuck, fuck…" Craig gasped with each thrust, his legs shaking as he felt his body begin the roller coaster ride to release. "Oh god John Paul I… fuck I… oh fuck yes…"

Craig's cock fired a seemingly endless barrage of heat deep inside John Paul, his fingernails scoring along John Paul's back as he came, slamming his cock as hard and deep as he could until he had nothing left to give and he fell against his lover panting and exhausted.

---

The two men lay together in an untidy heap on Craig's sofa, their bodies still tingling and their pulses still racing as they slowly regained their breath.

Casting a glance over to the corner of the room John Paul's gaze was greeted by the steely green of the two cats who had still declined to come anywhere near the visitor or their master.

"They really aren't talking to you are they?" John Paul said with a chuckle.

Following John Paul's gaze Craig smiled. "Yeah felines can be funny like that… they hold a grudge… but I'll win them over in time."

"I bet you will," John Paul replied with a small kiss to Craig's cheeks, "You could win anyone over if you tried."


	4. Chapter 4

Warren stared at the shimmering red jewel that sat in the centre of Clare's desk. But he didn't notice its breathtaking beauty or the way that the light seemed to flicker and dance joyfully inside the diamond, nor did he see how it reflected the light outwards to cast a myriad of designs across the walls, creating an effect that most artists would be proud of.

All Warren could see as he looked at the Red Death Diamond was the vast amount of money he was going to be paid when he handed it over. Warren had no time for things of beauty. Looking at such an item could not feed his soul because Warren had long since forsaken his soul in favour of more tangible rewards. Money was the only thing that mattered in Warren's world. Money and the things, or the people, he could buy with it. And anything he found he could not buy Warren was more than happy to take. Having no soul gave the man no sense of guilt or remorse. If he wanted he took, until he was satisfied, but he never seemed to be satisfied. The more he had the more he wanted. The hunger was endless and consuming.

Clare sat nervously in her chair. The chair that normally made her feel powerful and strong, the chair that said she was in charge. Anyone entering Clare Devine's office knew their place, just like they knew she could shatter their world with a flutter of her eyes and not even see the devastation left behind. Anyone entering the office at that moment would not have recognised the woman.

Clare's hands were laced together on the surface of her desk only inches from the diamond. She wanted to reach out and touch it but at the same time she wanted to push it away. Its beauty was astounding but it wasn't the beauty that she saw as she stared into its mysterious blood red depths, it was the account of all the deaths that had followed the gem since it was first discovered. Clare was a sensible level headed woman who was not adverse to doing whatever it took to get the upper hand, she wasn't the sort to believe in curses. But as she looked into the heart of the diamond Clare felt afraid and she would be glad when Warren took it out of her sight.

---

John Paul had been reluctant to leave Craig's apartment, just as the dark haired man had been reluctant to let him go. For a while, cocooned in the comfort of each other the outside world had ceased to exist.

The Ocelot and The Knight didn't seem to matter as John Paul traced a lazy finger over Craig's bare chest, feeling the strong beat of the heart beneath. Catching John Paul's hand Craig kissed the man's fingers lightly.

"I really have to get moving," Craig said with a sigh, "I've got a job on in a few hours…"

"Phone in sick," John Paul replied, deliberately snuggling up closer to his boyfriend to make the idea of leaving even less appealing. "Tell them you've got a spot."

"With skin as perfect as mine?" Craig replied with a laugh, "Who would ever believe it? Besides it's a swimwear shoot, no one's gonna be looking at my face!"

"Tart," John Paul teased as he squeezed Craig's nipple hard, making the man yelp and laugh at the same time.

"You better believe it," Craig agreed as John Paul slowly pulled himself upright.

"Suppose there'll be lots of semi-naked women at the shoot then?"

"I expect there will…"

"Draping themselves all over you?"

"At the very least…"

"You better keep your hands to yourself then," John Paul warned, half jokingly, as he got to his feet and began to adjust his clothing that was in a considerable about of disarray.

"Me?" Craig replied in mock innocence, "Is them you have to worry about…" Getting to his feet Craig took hold of John Paul's hands and looked into the, still sore looking, gentle blue eyes. All joking left Craig's voice when he spoke again. "There's only one person I want my hands on these days… I mean it John Paul… all that other stuff, it's behind me now… It's just you… just you…"

---

Wrapping his arms across his chest to block out the winter chill John Paul kept his head down as he walked to his car. He had attempted to brave the streets without the dark glasses but, despite the chill of the wind, the day was particularly bright and he had quickly dug into his jacket pocket to retrieve the glasses.

John Paul McQueen had never liked being the focus of attention, an attribute that probably led him to a life behind the camera lens, and he felt self conscious as he drove home. Wearing dark glasses in winter, it was just asking to be noticed.

As he stopped the car at the traffic lights John Paul's attention wandered towards a street vendor. The cold grimy looking man stood beside a cart laden with the days newspapers, a small billboard of the top story by its side.

John Paul read the headline and felt his heart sink.

"Red Death Diamond stolen – Ocelot suspected."

The Ocelot had stolen that priceless jewel and The Knight had let him escape, John Paul had let him escape.

The beeping of several car horns brought John Paul back to the present moment and he clumsily put his car into gear, speeding away from the traffic lights that he hadn't notice change, to the accompanying calls of abuse from his fellow motorists.

---

"So what happens now?" Clare asked, trying to keep her tone light and her gaze from the cursed jewel in the centre of her desk, the dancing lights flickering over its highly polished surface.

"Happens?" Warren replied with a frown.

"With the…" Clare nodded towards the diamond.

"My buyer's out of town till next week at which point I make him a very happy man… and then he makes me an even happier one."

"So what are you going to do with it till then?"

"Do with it?" Warren echoed. "It's staying here…"

"What?" Clare's eyes widened with trepidation. He couldn't possibly mean that, could he? It must be some kind of joke but as Clare took in Warren's calm expression she knew it was no joke.

"What exactly did you think your part in all this was?" Warren asked incredulously, "I developed the plan, I broke in to the museum and stole the diamond, I made the contact that will pay handsomely for it… seriously Clare, what did you think your role was?"

"I don't know… I… I just…" Clare shrugged. She hadn't really considered why Warren had needed her assistance in a theft that he had, so far, handled alone but as she realised why she was needed Clare wanted nothing more than to back out. "I just don't like the idea of it being here…" Clare said quietly.

Warren laughed. The sound was hollow and lacking any real humour and yet it's mocking quality was all too evident.

"It's a stone Clare," Warren taunted, "Just a bit of stone that people happen to like the look of…"

"But the curse… all those deaths…"

"Let me put it this way," Warren said coldly as he got to his feet and walked around the desk until he was towering over the blonde woman. "If you back out now there will be another death they can add to the list…" Picking up the diamond Warren pushed it into Clare's hand, wrapping her fingers around it and pressing them down firmly until they crushed against the cold gem, making Clare wince in pain. "And we wouldn't want that would we?"

Clare shook her head in response, letting out a sigh of relief as he released his grip on her hand, allowing her to drop the diamond quickly onto the desktop as if it had burned her skin.

"Good girl," Warren said softly, his hand stroked the length of Clare's silken hair before slipping around her neck to grip lightly at her throat. "You don't want to disappoint me do you?"

Once again Clare shook her head, Warren's fingers hot against her skin as she swallowed hard.

There was something about Warren Fox. Something exciting, something terrifying. The cold of his eyes and the heat of his touch make Clare shudder as his fingers slid down her neck until they caught in the top button of her deep red blouse. The fabric was soft and almost sheer, suggesting that it could be seen through if only you looked hard enough but Warren had no intention of straining his eyes.

"Good," Warren said again as he slipped open Clare's top button, "Because I hate being disappointed…"

"And I wouldn't want to do that," Clare said in a somewhat breathless voice, her eyes fixed on Warren's impassive face as he quickly made his way through all the buttons of her blouse until it fell open to expose her milky white skin and her firm breasts, which were covered only by the lace of her scarlet bra.

A part of Clare found Warren terrifying, he was a danger and she knew it. But he was also intoxicating and, as he cupped one pert breast in the palm of his hand it never crossed her mind to refuse him or to try and stop him. His touch, his very presence, enticed her and Clare moaned softly as Warren's hand squeezed her breast hard, his fingers pinching against the nipple that had grown hard.

Warren smiled, a small curve of his lips that made him look, if it were possible, even colder as the smile never quite made it to his eyes. It was a smile of satisfaction, of knowing he would get what he wanted, but then Warren always got what he wanted. He made sure of that.

Very few women ever resisted Warren's advances. Whether it was through lust or fear, and he didn't care which, they usually succumbed to him and on the rare occasion that they didn't he would simply take what he wanted anyway.

But Warren always preferred it if they wanted him. He had no interest in knowing if the women he fucked enjoyed it as such, but rather he enjoying knowing that they wanted him; that he could make them moan and beg and scream out his name. Warren loved to feel a woman tremble at his touch, much as Clare was doing as he continued to knead her breasts through the fabric of her bra.

"Stand up," Warren instructed simply, stepping back as Clare rose to her feet and stood uncertainly before him.

Clare had spent most of her adult life in charge. In charge of her business or of her husband, it all meant the same to her. She had always been the one in control but Warren made her feel powerless and, instead of hating the feeling, Clare found it strangely erotic and enthralling.

She knew at that moment that Warren could do anything he wanted to her. And it was not only that he could but also the fact that Clare wanted him to. She wanted him to take charge of her, of her body, she wanted him to dominate her like no man had ever managed to before and her flesh ached in anticipation of his next touch.

With a rough shove Warren pushed Clare against her office wall, the weight of his body pressed hard against her and the firmness of his erection grinding into her groin. Clare licked her glossy red lips in anticipation of a kiss that never came. Instead Warren's mouth fell to her neck where he bit her, hard, making her cry out in startled pain as his hands hitched up her tight black skirt until it was bunched around her slender waist.

Warren grinned as his hands ran over the top of Clare's stocking, his thumbs hooking into the sides of her dainty lace knickers, which tore as he pulled at them, tossing their shredded remains to one side.

Clare winced as the fabric of her underwear cut into her thighs for a moment before giving way and being discarded, she was certain there would be a mark there by morning.

Warren bit harder into Clare's neck as he nudged her feet further apart, his fingers slipping easily inside her as she groaned at his touch. Warren pushed two and then three fingers deep into Clare's hot flesh, fucking her roughly with his hand as her moans became louder and more breathless.

Stepping back Warren grinned as he pushed his sodden fingers into Clare's ruby red mouth, watching with satisfaction as she sucked her own juices from his skin, saliva running down her chin as Warren's fingers stretched her mouth widely.

Grabbing her by the shoulders Warren pushed Clare down over her desk, unzipping his jeans and freeing his cock so quickly that she barely had time to catch her breath before he was inside her.

Warren's cock felt hard and thick as it slammed deep inside Clare's soaking wet pussy and she groaned loudly, her crimson fingernails clawing the surface of her desk as he gripped her hips and began to fuck her, hard.

Warren grunted with each forward thrust, the satisfying slap of skin against skin as his cock enjoyed the silken heat that enveloped it.

Grabbing one of Clare's hands he pushed it between her legs. "Make yourself come," he panted into her ear.

Clare began to rub her clit with one finger, slowly at first, but growing faster as Warren increased the speed of his thrusts until she was moaning and trembling, her climax so close that she had no ability, or desire, to stop it.

"Oh god Warren fuck me," Clare panted, "Fuck me hard…"

Warren slammed his cock harder into Clare's willing body as she cried out, shuddering with pleasure as she came, her body contracting against Warren's cock, making him grunt loudly and tighten his hold on her hips as he thrust deeply inside her, shooting his hot creamy load in wave after wave of satisfaction.

The second Warren was spent he withdrew and quickly tucked his rapidly deflating cock back inside his jeans before zipping them back up.

"Thanks," he said without emotion as he headed for the door. "Now put that diamond away somewhere safe and I'll call you when I'm ready for it."

Clare stood at her desk, panting and dishevelled for a few moments after Warren had gone before shaking her head and trying to regain her senses. With trembling fingers she adjusted her skirt and fumbled with the buttons of her blouse trying to convince herself that she still looked composed. Whereas in reality she looked like what she was. A woman who had just been well and truly fucked.

---

Craig took a deep lungful of the crisp January air. Despite the disappointment of the previous evening he felt good and nothing could spoil his mood.

He might have missed out on his prize, for now, but he had something that was even more valuable. He had someone who loved him. Not Craig Dean the model or Craig The Ocelot but him. Just Craig. And he hadn't had that since his mother died.

It was two hours before Craig had to be at the photo shoot and he had decided to enjoy the bright day by walking the journey that he would normally drive.

Whistling to himself Craig almost didn't see the thing that would change his mood instantly but, from the corner of his eye something caught his attention and it didn't even register fully in his mind until he turned to face the white board that seemed to call to him.

Leaning against one wall and beside a newsstand was the billboard emblazoned with the days headline, a headline that made Craig grind his teeth in annoyance.

"Red Death Diamond stolen – Ocelot suspected."

Craig couldn't believe it. Not only had the diamond been snatched from right under his nose but worst of all he was still getting the credit for the theft. In Craig's mind he didn't see it as blame, as pulling off such a heist was something he would be proud of, but only if he had achieved it. Seeing his pseudonym related to a crime he had not achieved gnawed at Craig's chest and he vowed, once again, to make sure the diamond was in his possession as soon as he could.

Craig's annoyance was so great that he almost missed the second thing that would call his attention and change his day completely.

Towards the other end of the street stood the offices to DevineFashions and, as Craig continued to head towards them, he saw a figure exiting the building. Someone that had no business visiting a fashion house. Someone that very few people even knew. Warren Fox. The Fox.

Despite having kept his own identity hidden from everyone Craig had still managed to discover the truth behind all of the major thieves in the city over the past few years. Not that he ever intended to do anything with such information, but he liked to know who his rivals were and at times it had proved useful.

Without knowing the identity of The Fox Craig would not have noticed the man leaving DevineFashions that morning but, knowing who the man was, Craig's curiosity was peaked and he decided to pay a brief visit to the owner of the fashion house.

Clare looked flustered as Craig walked into her office without knocking but a glint of red as she quickly stuffed something into her desk drawer told Craig everything he needed to know.

"Craig…" Clare stammered trying, and failing, to appear composed. "What are you doing here?"

"Just passing and thought I'd stop by," Craig lied with a practiced smile. "There was no one in your secretary's office to let you know I was here."

Clare's eyes flickered towards the door and the office that lay beyond it. Her latest secretary had been fired only that morning, which had been convenient while Warren was there but less so when it came to screening out visitors.

"Right… well…" Clare said, lacing her hands in front of her on her desk and smiling at Craig in what she hoped was an alluring manner. "I am rather busy so if it was nothing specific…"

Craig grinned. A few seconds after entering the room he had surveyed the scene in its entirety. From the diamond being hastily stuffed into Clare's desk, to her incorrectly buttoned blouse and torn underwear in the corner of the room.

Craig knew everything he needed to and had no real desire to converse with the woman who, quite frankly gave him chills. He had even managed to check out the relatively basic security devices while appearing to stand nonchalantly before her desk.

"Well I wouldn't want to keep you Clare," Craig said with his trademark winning smile, "Like I said I was just passing…"

"Maybe another time," Clare replied smiling again and silently urging the annoying model from her office, "You know you're welcome to stop by."

"Don't worry," Craig replied as he turned to leave, "You can bet I will."

---

"So… have they forgiven you yet?" John Paul asked with a teasing smile as he looked across the dinner table at his companion.

"They?" Craig asked with a frown, the lights from the candles in the centre of the restaurants table dancing seductively inside the depths of his chocolate brown eyes.

"The cats," John Paul giggled, "It's been two days, you must have gotten around them by now!"

"Of course… how could they stay mad at me for long?"

"What did it cost you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Craig grinned as he wolfed down another mouthful of pasta, his eyes never leaving the face of his boyfriend. Before John Paul sexual partners had been just that, someone to enjoy the physical pleasures of the body with. Craig's sexuality had never really occurred to him, it didn't matter; man or woman it made no difference as long as it was good. But until John Paul he had never openly dated another man, his dinner dates in the public eye had tended to be with one beautiful woman or another, each one serving to enhance his reputation or his career, he never cared which.

Since meeting John Paul things had changed. Now he wanted to be seen out with the man who made his heart race just by smiling, he wanted people to see this wonderful thing he had found. Craig Dean wanted the world to know he was in love.

"Craig those cats are spoiled," John Paul admonished gently, "and you know they are… so come on, how did you win them round?"

"With my charm obviously," Craig replied with a grin that dazzled brightly, making John Paul laugh and shake his head.

"And the truth?"

"OK I might have bought some extra caviar, and smoked salmon, and perhaps a fillet or two of trout…"

Laughing harder John Paul reached across the table and took a gentle hold of Craig's hand, savouring both the warmth of the man's touch and also the electricity that seemed to radiate through his body as they connected.

"Those cats eat better than I do," John Paul complained with a pout.

"Oh you poor starving artist," Craig chuckled, squeezing John Paul's fingers affectionately.

"You better believe it!"

"What can I say? I can't help pampering them… they're my…" Craig paused, his cheeks flushing gently in the glow of the candle, giving his features an innocence that took John Paul's breath away.

"Go on you might as well say it," John Paul teased.

"Don't know what you mean…"

"Craig…"

Craig laughed, his blush growing deeper under John Paul's steady gaze and the confession that the other man already knew. "They're…" Craig turned his eyes to focus on John Paul's fingers laced tightly within his own. "They're my babies," he said quietly and with a touch of embarrassment, "I've got to look after them."

Craig could still remember the first time he had laid eyes on Nikolai and Malaysia, just kittens then, small and helpless but with the ability to instantly steal his heart.

The second he saw them Craig had known he had to have them, which had given him two problems. Firstly they weren't actually for sale and secondly he had broken into the house with an entirely different target.

The large Tudor style house had been easy to break into, the alarm system, although top of the range, one that The Ocelot had mastered months earlier and he had padded on silent feet through the ground floor rooms looking for his prize. The Ocelot didn't normally like to break into people's homes, he was no petty burglar and despite his life of crime he still retained some principals.

But there were times he would make the exception and, seeing the owner's recent interview on the television made him an ideal target. The overweight balding man in his 50's was arrogant, crass and thoroughly ignorant. Inheriting a fortune he neither deserved nor respected irritated Craig's sensibilities and watching the man gloat over his newest acquisition of an antique, and rather beautiful, oil painting set Craig's teeth on edge.

Not only did the man not appreciate the aesthetics of his purchase but he also seemed ignorant of anything but its monetary value and as such he didn't deserve to own such an object.

The Ocelot had been standing before the landscape when a sound behind him had caught his attention. Turning he saw a small black fabric carry case with a mesh front, and peering out from its dark interior were the glowing, pleading eyes, of two tiny kittens.

The young cats meows were small and plaintive and pulled The Ocelot away from the painting to crouch before the carry case, his fingertips reaching out to its occupants.

"Well what have we got here?" The Ocelot asked in a hushed voice, "You don't look very happy in there…"

"Mrrrow…" The larger of the two kittens replied, butting his head against the mesh in a quest for affection and rubbing his ears against The Ocelot's gloved fingers.

Leaning forward The Ocelot's nose wrinkled, the case in which the kittens were house smelled soiled as if they had been in there for some time and as they continued to press against the mesh in search of attention The Ocelot knew it was something they were currently being deprived of.

The Ocelot's gaze flicked back to the painting on the wall. It was beautiful, breathtaking, and worth an absolute fortune. It would adorn his apartment perfectly and teach its current owner a well deserved lesson.

Looking back at the carry case The Ocelot smiled. He had neither the time nor the ability to carry both the painting and the kittens from the house. Within minutes the backup generator would kick in and the house would once again be fully alarmed and The Ocelot had to be out and away before that happened.

"Well I've got plenty of paintings," The Ocelot told the two kittens as he lifted up the case in one hand, supporting its dipping base with the other, "But you two are something a lot more precious… although I don't know what I have in my apartment that cats would like to eat… suppose you might enjoy that jar of caviar I haven't opened yet…"

Craig had doted on the two cats from the moment he had brought them into his home and had never once in the intervening years considered that he had stolen them. Rather he had rescued the small felines and given them the kind of life that he believed they deserved and they loved him for it, just as much as he loved them, even if they did sulk at him occasionally.

"You are a big softie Craig Dean," John Paul said with a warm loving smile, his voice bringing Craig back to the present and making the man echo his lover's smile.

"You wouldn't have me any other way," Craig replied, tilting his head to one side slightly and tightening his grip on John Paul's fingers as a thought seemed to occur to him, although in truth it was a thought he had had many times. "John Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"Come away with me…"

"What? You mean like on holiday?"

"Yeah, no… I don't know… it's just… Hollyoaks City, it's just so… Don't you want more John Paul?"

John Paul smiled as he pulled Craig's hand to his mouth and gently kissed the man's fingertips. "I've got all I want," he said with sincerity.

"I'm serious."

"So am I…"

"But John Paul, what has this city got to keep us here?"

"I don't know… friends… our work…"

"John Paul," Craig laughed softly, "You're a top class photographer, you could get work anywhere… and so could I… think of it, you and me… anywhere in the world…"

"I…" John Paul hesitated. How could he answer truthfully? When he mentioned work it wasn't really his career as a photographer that he was referring to but rather the work for which he never got any recognition. The work that he had taken on himself when he first donned the costume of The Knight, but how could Craig know that? How could Craig ever understand what it meant to live a life in secret like that?

John Paul's brilliant blue eyes shone with confusion and anguish, a look deep in the sapphire pools that caused a sharp pain in Craig's chest and made him regret his suggestion.

As much as Craig revelled in the life of The Ocelot more and more he realised that he stole simply because he could rather than any great desire for the objects that came into his possession. The more time passed, the more time he spent with John Paul, the less the thrill of The Ocelot seemed to matter to Craig but he knew that while he stayed in the city that had shown him the ease of such a lifestyle he would not be able to just walk away, no matter how much he might want to.

"It doesn't matter," Craig said as he let go of John Paul's hand and topped up their champagne flutes, the sparkling liquid dancing in the candle light. "It was just a thought, it's not important…"

"Maybe one day yeah?" John Paul replied, picking up the glass and taking a sip of his champagne.

"Yeah one day."

The two men looked at each other, unaware of their surroundings or the bustle of waiters and other diners, the world consisted of just the two of them and they both whispered a silent prayer that it could always be that way. But they both knew that it couldn't, not as long as they held onto their secrets.

---

The Ocelot grinned to himself as he swiftly navigated the empty corridors of the darkened office building. For three days, or rather three nights, he had monitored the building. He had carefully mapped out each alarm point and timed the repetitive routine of the two security guards.

The guards would take it in turns checking out the offices, casting their flashlights around the empty rooms without really looking, after all what would there be to see? What was there worth stealing? They would do their rounds quickly before returning to their companion and the latest game of cards, or DVD or whatever else they chose to entertain themselves in the early hours of the morning.

What they would have done if they had discovered a burglar in their midst they didn't know, but then they weren't about to find out because The Ocelot wasn't that careless. No one would ever know he had been there. Well no one but Clare and The Fox, and who would they report the crime to? Who could you tell that an object you stole had been stolen?

The Ocelot laughed quietly as he picked the lock on Claire's office door, its hinges creaking slightly as he pushed it open and stepped inside.

Craig almost felt bad at the ease with which The Ocelot found the safe secreted behind one rather tasteless and tacky paintings before attaching a listening device, fashion on a hospital stethoscope, to its door and clicking the dial carefully around until the combination was revealed to him.

Holding his breath The Ocelot opened the safe door and reached inside, curling his fingers around the solitary object. The weight of the diamond in his hand felt comforting, exciting, a thrill the like of which he could get nowhere else, almost nowhere else. For an instant Craig wondered what John Paul McQueen would think of The Ocelot's activities but he quickly pushed the thought aside as he looked into the shimmering blood red depths of the illusive Red Death Diamond.

It was exquisite; it was unique and, as he slipped it into his pocket The Ocelot smiled widely. It was his.

---

A few people had noticed how increasing on edge Clare was becoming. The normally volatile woman was well known for her mood swings and everyone who worked at DevineFashions knew to walk on eggshells where she was concerned.

But over the past two days she had changed, jumping in her seat every time someone knocked on the door and insisting that no one… NO ONE… was allowed inside her office without their arrival being notified first.

Clare was often observed pacing the length of her office, her high red heels passing back and forth over the same route along the carpet from her desk to the wall opposite and back again. Every time she reached the wall she would stop for a moment, her hand resting beside the tacky painting that hung there, fingers twitching nervously before she spun on her heels and walked back to her desk. Only to repeat the walk moments later.

Clare had hated putting the Red Death Diamond into her wall safe, its very presence unnerved her and her dreams were haunted by tales of the countless deaths that had been attributed to the ruby coloured gem. Every morning after Warren had left the diamond in her care Clare's first job had been to check on it, ensuring it was safely tucked away in a place where no one would ever think of looking.

And then one morning, it wasn't.

Clare's reaction had gone from alarm to concern to full out frantic panic as she tore her office apart searching for the stone that had somehow vanished from her office.

Pulling drawers from her desk Clare tried to convince herself that she had put the diamond inside one of those instead of in the safe, an accidental slip that she would rectify the second the jewel was back in her possession.

But it wasn't found in any drawer, nor in her waste paper basket or the wine decanter.

The Red Death was gone and Clare had no explanation how or why and in two days time Warren was due back to collect it.

Returning to her desk Clare turned on her laptop, quickly accessing the internet and booking the first flight she could away from Hollyoaks City, it didn't matter where she went she just knew she had to get away before Warren returned.

Looking around her office Clare sighed. She had enjoyed the life of a fashion mogul; even if she wasn't a very successful one, but now Clare Devine knew that she had to do something she had done before. She had to get away and start again.

Another city, another country, another life and another collection of lies. Starting again was never something Clare enjoyed but it was something she was capable of doing with ease. It wouldn't take long before she would latch on to a rich man who longed to take care of the fragile flower he would believe Clare to be.

Clare Devine was a survivor and right now she knew her survival depended on not being there when Warren came to collect the missing diamond.

---

Craig smiled as he rolled the Red Death Diamond around in his hands, passing it from left to right and back again, his gaze mesmerised by the dancing lights that seemed to shimmer and leap in the diamond's heart. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever owned, its cold weight felt solid and comforting in his hands and he found it difficult to put down. No sooner had he placed it on the small stand that he had purchased especially for it, than it was again in his grasp. Its beauty was addictive and Craig was quickly becoming a willing junkie, even the plaintive meows of his hungry cats didn't register in Craig's mind as his entire focus swam inside the blood read centre of his prize.

Craig ran his fingers lightly over the jewel's surface, caressing each of its many faceted sides as he would the features of a tender lover, and looking at it with just as much affection.

He cried out in sudden pain, the diamond falling from his grip and rolling away to rest against the far wall as Craig looked down accusingly at the source of his discomfort.

Nikolai looked up at his owner's deep brown eyes and mewed his dissatisfaction. He was hungry and Craig was neglecting his duties, a crime for which the only suitable punishment, in Nikolai's mind at least, was sharp claws to the bare thigh.

Craig looked in astonishment at the red drops of blood that bloomed on his skin where the cat's nails had pierced.

"What was that for?" Craig asked the feline who was still nudging the man with his face and voicing his displeasure. It was only then that Craig realised how light the room had become, the single desk lamp had originally been the only illumination for the object of his concentration, but the night had long since passed into morning and Craig realised he had been sat for many hours just staring at the jewel and worse than that he realised it was something he had done ever since the diamond had come into his possession.

Everything else had been neglected in favour of the Red Death and Craig felt a little unnerved by the fact, there was something frighteningly addictive about the gem and Craig had fallen completely under its spell.

With a deep breath Craig scooped Nikolai up in one hand and got to his feet, he moved to collect the diamond from the floor but then hesitated. It would come to no harm where it was and Craig wasn't sure if he picked it up he would be able to let it go again.

"Come on Nikolai," Craig said as he tickled the cat's chin, to the accompaniment of a satisfactory purr, "I think you and Malaysia deserve an extra special dinner don't you? Silly Craig spending so long with a piece of stone…" Closing the door to his hidden room Craig cast one last longing look to where the diamond lay before shutting it from view. "It's not nearly as beautiful as you two…" It was then that Craig realised it wasn't only his two pets he had been neglecting over the last few days and, once two silver bowls had been laden with caviar and smoked salmon, Craig settled down on his sofa and picked up the telephone.

---

"Craig?" John Paul's voice questioned from the other end of the line, "Craig who? I used to know a Craig Dean once…"

"Yeah very funny," Craig replied with a sheepish grin.

"Craig where have you been?" John Paul asked with a slight air of frustration to his voice, "I've left you hundreds of messages, I was getting worried…"

"Hundreds?" Craig asked with a small laugh.

"OK a couple," John Paul conceded, "But that's not the point, you could have called… I was beginning to think…"

"What?"

"I dunno… that you wanted to dump me…" John Paul's cheeks flushed pinkly and he was glad that his lover was only on the telephone and unable to see his embarrassment.

"As if!" Craig exclaimed as if the mere idea of such a thing was ludicrous.

"Well what was I supposed to think Craig? You haven't been in touch in three days now…"

"Err… you could think that your boyfriend's an idiot…"

"I already knew that!" John Paul couldn't help but smile as he rested his head on the back of the sofa and listened to the warm caress of Craig's voice. The truth was he had been afraid that the model was ending their relationship with that tried and tested method of silence, and the relief he felt knowing that wasn't the case was surprisingly strong. It was almost as if he had been given a death sentence only to have it revoked at the last second.

"He's a sorry idiot," Craig said with a smile that John Paul could feel even if he couldn't see it.

"How sorry?"

"Let me come over there and I'll show you!"

John Paul looked at his watched and grimaced. "I've got to leave for a job in ten minutes," he said sadly.

"Typical," Craig pouted in classic super-model style. "You should give up work…"

"And do what?" John Paul laughed.

"You could become my permanent sex-slave…"

"You couldn't afford me!"

"Ahh you wouldn't charge me that much…"

"A man's gotta earn a crust…"

"John Paul McQueen I would spend every penny I had keeping you in silk sheets and satin ropes!"

"Satin ropes?"

"Just a thought…"

"I like it…"

"Me too… let me come over and I'll show you how much…"

"You have some satin ropes?" John Paul asked with a giggle.

"I could get some on my way…"

"Craig I've got to go out…" John Paul sighed with longing and regret. His groin ached pleasantly at the idea of seeing Craig and also the promise of satin ropes.

"Oh well," Craig said with a heavy dose of melodrama, "I suppose I'll just have to lie here alone and imagine what I would do with those ropes…"

"And what exactly would you do?"

"You don't have time to listen… you've got work to do!"

"Craig!" John Paul objected, "I've still got a few minutes…"

"No, no," Craig teased, "I don't want to be distracting the famous photographer from his work… you run along now and don't give it another thought…"

"Craig Dean you are pure evil sometimes… you do know that don't you?"

"Of course," Craig laughed, "But you wouldn't change me for the world…"

"No," John Paul agreed, "I really wouldn't."

---

"Miss Devine there's a gentleman here to see you."

Clare grimaced at the voice of her latest assistant coming through the intercom on her telephone, Catherine, Caroline? It didn't really matter. She had just finished organising the last details of her escape from Hollyoaks City and the last thing she needed was some designer wannabe interrupting her.

"Tell him I'm in a meeting…"

After a pause the voice of Carol came through again. "Erm Miss Devine… he's refusing to leave… say's it's urgent… He's kind of…" Carol's voice dropped to a hushed whisper, "He's scary…"

The colour drained from Clare's face and her hands shook with fear.

"Miss Devine what should I tell him?"

Biting her lip Clare tried desperately to think of a way to get out of her office before the man on the other side of the door could enter. But there was no other exit, a quick glance at the window caused her to shake her head, there was no escape route to be found three floors up. She was trapped, like a chicken in a coup waiting for the approaching fox.

"I couldn't wait any longer," Warren said as he barged through the door and into Clare's office, a flustered looking young woman hot on his heels, scared that she might lose her job but even more scared of what the intimidating man might have done if she'd tried to stop him. "For some reason your secretary didn't want to let me in… why would that be Clare?"

Dismissing Carol with a wave of her hand Clare laughed nervously. "Oh Warren! I didn't realise it was you… you're early… I wasn't expecting you for another couple of days yet…"

"My buyer got home early and wanted his new trinket…" Warren fell heavily into one of the chair facing Clare's desk and looked at the woman coldly.

She looked nervous and uncertain and it amused him. Warren liked people being afraid of him, he liked the power it gave him and, when the fear was coming from a beautiful woman, it was an incredible turn on. Warren mentally calculated whether he had time to fuck her again before taking the diamond and leaving; he decided he probably would, if he was quick…

"So come on," Warren said slapping his palms down heavily on the smooth wooden surface of the desk, "Let's be seeing the pretty little thing…"

"Erm…" Clare fidgeted in her seat, Warren's steady gaze making her blood run cold.

"Clare… where's my diamond?"

Clare's eyes darted around the room, searching for anywhere to rest but on the man facing her.

"It's not my fault…" Clare said quietly. Was it too late to call the police she wondered, if she pressed the intercom button on her phone and screamed for help would anybody come? Would anybody even care?

"Where is my diamond?" Warren asked again, getting to his feet and walking slowly but deliberately around the desk until he towered over the fragile looking blonde woman.

"It was here and… and…" Clare stuttered as the heavy weight of Warren's hand rested on her shoulder, its grip tightening until she winced with pain. "I don't know what happened…"

"I want that diamond NOW!" Grabbing Clare roughly by the shoulders Warren pulled her to her feet and glared into her face, making her whole body tremble with fear, not only at the anger she saw there but also the lack of any basic human compassion.

"I don't have it," Clare whimpered softly.

"Don't tell me that Clare… just go and get it…"

"I don't… I don't know where it is…"

Warren's large rough fingers slid around Clare's throat, just resting there lightly, but still pressing hard enough to make the woman gulp. "Get it…"

"Warren I can't… It's gone… someone… someone took it…"

"So let me get this straight… some unknown person suddenly decided to break into this office and steal a diamond that they had no way of knowing was here?"

"Yes… I…."

"How fucking stupid do you think I am Clare?" With his hand still around the woman's throat Warren pushed her roughly backwards until her back slammed against the wall. "If there is one thing I can't stand it's being double crossed…"

"But I haven't…"

"Or being lied to…"

"I'm not…"

"Who was it eh? Who offered you more than the cut you'd get from me? Was it worth it Clare," Warren's fingers tightened around the woman's slender throat making her claw at his hand and gasp for air. "Does it seem worth it now?" He breathed close into her ear before placing an unbelievably tender kiss against her cheek.

"Warren… please…" Clare choked, "Please let go…"

"We could have been good together Clare," Warren said, with almost a hint of regret in his voice, "But you had to get greedy."

Clare tried to object but she was unable to speak as Warren's strong hand squeezed harder at her throat, the cartilage and bones grinding beneath his fingers.

"Say you're sorry Clare," Warren told the woman, his grip tightening with each word until no air could get past the obstruction of his fingers. "Say you're sorry and I'll let you go…"

Clare's mouth moved but no words came out, her voice silenced by the lack of air as her strength began to leave her.

"Oh I can't hear you," Warren mocked, "So I guess that means you're not sorry about being a cheating double crossing whore… and you know what they say about whore's don't you Clare… the only good whore…"

Quickly spinning Clare around so that her back was against his chest Warren gripped the side of her head firmly and snapped it to one side with a sickening crunch before dropping the lifeless body to the floor. "… is a dead whore…"

Warren strode out of the office without so much as a backward glance, stopping at the desk of Clare's secretary and leaning over it to breathe directly into the young woman's face.

"I don't think your boss feels very well," he said very quietly, "and if you remember I was ever here neither will you!"


	5. Chapter 5

The offices of DevineFashions were closed and had been since Clare's secretary had "found" the woman's body in her office the previous afternoon.

Within minutes the building had been filled with police officers but they appeared to have left empty handed. There was no hard evidence to be found and no obvious suspect, at least none that the onlookers could perceive that day. Despite the woman's unpopular manner and her casually careless and often harsh treatment of her employees no one could actually think of a single person who hated the woman enough to strangle her before breaking her neck.

According to the secretary no one had been seen entering or leaving Miss Devine's office before or after the murder and for some reason the security cameras had been turned off.

Warren Fox prowled in the late night gloom of the silent building. He might have been revisiting the scene of his crime, of the murder he performed with barely a casual thought, but it wasn't remorse that drove him into the office where he had taken Clare's life.

It was necessity.

Clare had cheated him, taken the Red Death Diamond and sold it on to a higher bidder, cutting him out in the process. Not only did The Fox hate being double crossed, which had been enough reason for the woman's death in his mind, but now his buyer was getting anxious, and the man that Warren had sold the diamond to was not one to aggravate because, just like The Fox himself, the buyer would have no compunction in taking the life of someone who let him down.

And so Warren was forced back into a building he had no real desire to be seen around any time soon, in the vague hope that the woman had left some clues as to the diamond's whereabouts. As unlikely as it was that he would find anything Warren slowly, carefully and methodically searched through Clare's desk drawers, rifled through the contents of her wastepaper basket and scoured the interior of her open wall safe. His actions mirroring those of the police officers hours early.

Warren Fox came away empty handed. He had no way of knowing where the Red Death Diamond was and if he couldn't locate it, and fast, his own life was very sorely threatened.

Tense with frustration Warren left the offices as quietly and invisibly as he had entered them.

The prostitute he picked up a few hours later would be the one to find out just how angry the man really was. It would be many months before her face resembled anything human like again and the sight in her left eye was permanently destroyed. But, although she would never believe it, the twenty three year old blonde had been lucky. A timely telephone call was the only thing that had saved her life.

---

"One of these days," Craig smiled, "we're going to have to spend the evening at your place…"

John Paul looked around the large lounge of Craig's apartment, suddenly once more aware how 'modest' his place was compared to his boyfriend's and nodded, bashfully. His simple, humble, studio apartment might be comfortable but it certainly seemed inadequate now. Although he had no reason to feel ashamed of his home John Paul still preferred, wherever possible, to be the one to visit Craig.

Craig's lounge was minimally furnished, but with a subtle high class elegance that seemed to suit Craig Dean perfectly; John Paul had grown to realise that Craig had a taste for style, and would have carefully selected each colour and item of furniture that adorned his home. A large gilt-edged mirror dominated the wall above the marble fireplace and it reflected back an abstract painting that hung opposite it – a painting that had long bothered John Paul. It was almost identical to one that had been stolen twelve months ago from a top gallery in Berlin, and was clearly the best type of copy. You could barely tell it wasn't the actual missing painting.

The fire roared; a lithe, bright tsunami of yellow gold flames dancing with deeper shades of orange and red in some primordial waltz or salsa, shimmering up and down, their arms waving from side to side, reaching out and bleeding into each other as the flames grew higher and higher, breaking off and turning the large logs to a dark black colour. The flames roared, occasionally hissing and spitting, lighting the large lounge, which would otherwise be in darkness, each light carefully turned off to emphasise the mood.

Nikolai and Malaysia lay on a bed of heavy cushions, just to the side of the fire. Their delicate bodies were blissfully content, seemingly curled like a contortionist only to stretch out happily the next minute. Nikolai's eyes narrowed as he raised his head slightly, the small back mark that distinguished him from his sister becoming like an eyebrow, as his emerald green eyes locked with his owner's face. From the depths of his body, a reverberating purr of pleasure provided the backdrop, as the CD ceased to play and nobody bothered to replace it. Malaysia turned round, and swiped her brother, causing the tom to move as she took her place closer to the fire, Nikolai climbing onto the settee and rolling out between the two men.

"I doubt my place would be suitable, considering the opulent surroundings you're used to…"

"I've been known to rough it," Craig laughed pouring out two further glasses of finest malt, "I've done Calvin Klein twice…"

"Modelling or…?"

"Strictly professional," Craig laughed and shook his head; a devilish grin on his face, as his hand quickly made contact with Nikolai's stomach, making the cat turn onto his side slightly, and begin to purr anew, one green eye carefully fixed on John Paul. Nikolai had gotten used to the blonde's presence in his home, but still struggled with the concept that he might have to share his owner's attention with anyone other than his sister. "I don't mix business with pleasure… normally! I made an exception for you."

"So there's never been anyone long term?" John Paul asked, tentatively, as he went to stroke the white and gold cat, only to have his hand pawed away.

"Not really," Craig blushed slightly, his olive skin reflecting the dancing flames of the fire, as the deep chocolate of his eyes became more and more intense. "There just was never anyone that gripped my attention… I get restless… You?"

John Paul shook his head. "I dated someone for a bit, it just didn't work out…"

"Why?"

John Paul gulped back his whiskey, the taste burning his throat as he tried hard to swallow back the uncomfortable feeling he felt when he looked into Craig's eyes. Under his boyfriend's gaze, for the first time ever, John Paul felt naked. He felt free of masks, lies, secrets and had an overwhelming desire to tell the truth. He felt, with Craig, he could truly be John Paul. Not John Paul top photographer. Or 'The Knight' protector of justice. He just felt like John Paul Anthony Sebastian McQueen.

"We just weren't right for each other," John Paul sighed looking down at the top of his hand, his fingers rubbing his leg nervously, "we wanted different things, and he wanted to do different things and I was always busy and we just… we just…"

"Were too different?"

"Not right for each other," John Paul smiled. "You see Spike –"

"'Spike'?" Craig rolled back laughing at the ludicrous name, mental images of what 'Spike' might have looked like clouding his mind. He settled slightly as his annoyed feline gently nipped his hand, reminding him of his duty to massage his pampered frame. "Okay, so 'Spike'… was he a porn star or skateboarder?"

"Actually he wrote for a local gay rag," winced John Paul, "we just weren't right for each other. Other than that, nobody stopped."

Craig leaned in and, with one fluid movement, he pulled John Paul's head forward, pressing his mouth hard against John Paul's in a kiss that felt as if it had been a lifetime in the making. "Guess you were just waiting on Mr Right to walk into your studio!"

"Yeah… if you see him…"

"Oi!" Craig playfully slapped his boyfriend's head. "I'm serious… I've not felt like this about anyone before. There's something different about you, Mr. McQueen. Something deeper than what you let people see."

"You're mistaken…"

"I don't think so," Craig smiled leaning closer to his boyfriend, sliding his fingers through the gaps of John Paul's shirt between the buttons. "I really… don't… think… so…"

Their tongues fought to dominate each other, thrashing widely in each other's mouths. Craig almost pounced, sending John Paul backwards so that the olive skinned model was astride him. Craig's fingers traced the photographer's arms, until he reached the blonde's hands, their fingers interlacing. Pulling back, Craig locked his eyes with the blonde's and smiled.

"Now, John Paul…" Craig whispered into his lover's ear, "tell me who is behind that mask. I wanna see…"

"Craig," John Paul sighed, a little sadly. "Everyone wears a mask…from time to time…"

"Don't you think it would be fun to take it off," smiled Craig.

"I'd rather take something else off," John Paul groaned running his hand up the back of Craig's top. "A few things."

Craig folded his arms and narrowed his eyes contemplatively. His lips narrowed before falling into a coy smile. He ran his tongue across his lips before pouting, his olive flesh reflecting the warmth of the fire. "There's something about you… something different John Paul McQueen and I like it. I feel like I've found something, something that I didn't think existed in anyone else. We belong together…"

"I know," nodded John Paul. "And trust me – when I'm with you, you see everything behind the mask. Nobody else can boast that."

"Not even Spike?" giggled Craig.

"Definitely not Spike," John Paul sighed pulling Craig back into a kiss.

John Paul's arms slid around his boyfriend's back, pulling the man close to him as their kiss deepened and their passion grew.

"Stay," Craig breathed, his lips just a hairs width from the photographer's mouth.

"What?"

"Stay… tonight… you always rush off… In all this time John Paul we've never spent the whole night together… I want to wake up with you tomorrow morning…"

John Paul smiled, a sad longing in his soft blue eyes, the flickering of the fire dancing across his pupils. He had lost count of how many times he had left Craig's apartment, Craig's bed, when he wanted nothing more than to hold the man in his arms and lie there until morning. But doing such a thing seemed like an impossible dream. How could he indulge his own pleasures when the city relied on him, relied on The Knight to fight and help keep the streets safer for its citizens?

"Don't say it," Craig said with a sigh as he climbed from John Paul's lap and retook his seat on the sofa, he had seen John Paul's answer deep within the man's gentle eyes without him needing to speak.

"Craig it's not…"

"Forget it…"

"Craig please… it's not that I don't want to it's just…"

"What?" Craig asked, his tone a little sharper than he intended. "What is it John Paul? What is so important that you have to rush away every night? What is it that you're not telling me about?"

"It's not… it's just… I can't… you know that…"

"I know that you say you can't," Craig said with a sigh, "But I don't know WHY… you never tell me why… Why John Paul?" Craig's turned the full force of his gaze on John Paul, the rich deep chocolate of his eyes pleading for understanding in a way that almost made John Paul tell him everything, almost. "Why can't you stay… just once?"

"I can't," John Paul said quietly, so quietly it was almost imperceptible, "It's not that I don't want to it's just that I… I can't…"

"You keep saying that, but you never say why."

"Because… I…" John Paul couldn't find the words. How could he? He could hardly tell Craig that he left every night in order to don the garb of the Knight and patrol the streets of Hollyoaks City in the hope that his presence there would help, would make a difference. "I just can't…"

"I mean if you don't WANT to I would understand that," Craig said with a sad defeated shrug of his shoulders.

"God no, no Craig… not that, never that… I… it's not that I don't want to… not that I don't love you… it's just…" Pulling the model into his arms John Paul kissed Craig's lips softly and tenderly, a kiss of promises and hope. "One day yeah?" He said, his hands gently stroking Craig's cheeks as he held the man's gaze with his own. "One day… just not yet…"

"One day," Craig echoed with a sad laugh.

In the distance of the city the cathedrals bells chimed midnight and John Paul bit his lip.

"You're going aren't you?" Craig asked as he saw the darting uncertain look in John Paul's eyes.

"I have to…"

"Then go." Craig pulled away from John Paul's touch and got to his feet. Turning to the window he looked out over the city streets, their lights twinkling, taunting him, hundreds of apartments filled with happy couples while the man he loved was already putting on his jacket.

Craig watched in the reflection of the glass as John Paul hovered by the door, torn between his desire to stay and his need to leave.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" John Paul said uncertainly.

"If you like," Craig replied without turning.

"Craig…"

"Just go yeah?"

"And we'll talk tomorrow?"

"Well talk tomorrow."

"And Craig I… I do love you…"

Craig stood silent and motionless and listened to the sound of his door opening and his lover walking out quietly.

"I love you too," Craig said, turning around, his words addressing a closed door.

With a sigh he fell back onto the sofa, Malaysia and Nikolai leaping up to join him, as if knowing that he was in need of their attention.

Nikolai rubbed his face softly against Craig's cheek while his sister kneaded the man's thighs, both cats purring loudly as their faithful owner ran his hands over their silky backs, laughing despite himself as his pets fussed him to distraction.

"He will call won't he?" Craig asked of his felines, their bright green eyes staring back at him, seemingly accusing him of asking a stupid question. "Course he will," Craig reassured himself, John Paul loved him and no one had ever loved him like that before.

Suddenly scooping both cats into a hug, causing them to squirm as they fought to wriggle free, Craig laughed at his own insecurities. So John Paul wasn't ready to spend the night. There would be more nights. So many more.

Releasing his hold on the struggling cats Craig absentmindedly picked up a magazine that had been dropped, unread, on the coffee table a day or two earlier and flicked through the pages.

Shaking themselves the cats darted off, scampering across the floor as Malaysia attempted to catch her brother's tail, causing him to yelp and hiss as her teeth nipped at its tip before leaping into the air to pounce on her. Craig was half watching the cats when an article in the magazine caught his eye and he frowned with distaste.

"At home with Sonny Valentine," the headline splashed across the two page spread announced, the glossy pages filled with photographs of the racing driver's new penthouse apartment in the heart of Hollyoaks City, the man lounging in each room, his expression smug and self satisfied.

Sonny Valentine wasn't normally the sort of person that Craig paid the slightest bit of attention, he was, in Craig's opinion, neither handsome nor talented nor intelligent and as such was best to be avoided. But Craig had become aware of him one evening a couple of weeks previously as he and John Paul had dined together in an exclusive restaurant, enjoying each others company and the fine food laid out before them.

The mood of the evening had been shattered by the Valentine man who, in a voice deliberately loud enough to overhear, had spent at least half an hour commenting on the "type of people" allowed in top class establishments these days combined with a smattering of homophobic slurs that the men knew had been aimed in their direction.

Craig had been ready to confront, and probably floor, the man then and there but John Paul had asked him not to. The blonde photographer had hushed Craig's anger, holding the man's hands across the table and soothing his anger with a loving look from his soft blue eyes. Violence wasn't the answer, John Paul had insisted as he leant over and kissed his boyfriend long and hard in full view of the man across the restaurant, enjoying their "filthy queer actions" was much more fun.

Craig had let Valentine off that night at the request of his boyfriend. But Craig was restless and wired and the sight of the man's smug face suddenly irritated him more than it had done previously.

With a grin Craig got to his feet. He had no idea what Sonny Valentine might have stashed away in his swanky penthouse apartment but the Ocelot was about to find out and whatever there was he would take it. And, if the racing drivers possessions were as tacky and tasteless as Craig anticipated, well the local charity shop would still be grateful.

----

The sky had yet to turn black; somehow, considering it was far from early, it seemed doubtful that the heavy grey blanket that enveloped Hollyoaks City would surrender its hold. A thick wave of deep pearl-grey clouds tumbled over the nothingness, clouding the tip of the large, pseudo-gothic cathedral's spire, like troublesome waves on a sea preparing for a storm. Oddly, the deep silver crescent of the moon still shone through, proudly, in the sky that was devoid of a single solitary star. A pessimistic sceptic – that being anyone who had once visited Hollyoaks City – would say the stars had simply abandoned the city.

Originally an overspill, the dense populous resulted in a collection of neo-gothic and art nouveau buildings that rose in close proximity to each other, eventually creating rooftops that could be used with ease like surreal pathways. Something, right now, the Knight regretted.

The Knight didn't worry too often. Once the armoured suit was on he was a different person. Cool. Calm. Collected. In charge.

The design had been practical both physically, and aesthetically. Silver armour clung to his legs, arms and chest and was crowned with a full mask, with just a narrow visor for his eyes, which were still shielded from view. It was this razor sharp armour that had earned him his name. The Knight. Protector of Hollyoaks City; the person who stepped in where and when no one else could and it was now second nature. So why was tonight any different?

As much as he hated to admit it: John Paul McQueen, the Knight, knew exactly why. It was the figure dressed entirely in black that he was chasing. For John Paul murderers angered him. Rapists sickened him. The Ocelot just simply managed to get under his skin… and to be honest, the Knight hated that.

It left him vulnerable.

Dressed entirely in black, the material clinging to his lithe frame, the Ocelot left nothing to the imagination but also remained a total enigma. He moved with the fluidity of water; his strong body rippling underneath his 'night clothes', as he leapt across the rooftops, remaining to stop just a few feet ahead of his pursuer.

The Knight halted as the Ocelot leapt across onto the large expansive rooftop, which was in front of them. His breath was coming in tired, sharp gulps, his chest rising and falling, the silver armour reflecting the pale moonlight. He watched, in wonder as the Ocelot leapt backwards, his arms reaching upwards, pulling chest towards the sky, lifting his knees upward and swinging his body backwards into an impressive vault back flip, allowing him to climb to the top of an old water tower.

The guy must be an Olympic gymnast, John Paul mused. He'd bloody clean up in London – albeit, judging from everything, he'd walk away with the gold medals whether he won them or not. The guy was clearly a kleptomaniac.

"You do know," the Ocelot announced, his voice disguised by the small distorter within his mask, "that this is getting awfully boring… don't you have anything better to do?"

"Right now, no," the Knight snarled quickly rushing onto the rooftop and approaching the water tower. "Where's the Red Death diamond…?"

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't know?"

"You're not exactly trustworthy. You're a thief."

"That's not a nice thing to say, oh well… sticks and stones… and all that…"

"I saw you come out of that penthouse," came the Knight's disguised, angry voice. "Whatever you took, I want it…"

Standing up, the Ocelot coyly ran his fingers down his front, stopping just short of his crotch. "Why sure, I put it down the front of my pants. Help yourself…"

With surprising quickness, the Knight leapt forwards, jumping high enough to grip the Ocelot's wrist, and pull him forward. It didn't work. The Ocelot quickly writhed free and steadying himself, sent the Knight backwards, until they rolled across the roofs cold, hard, surface. The Knight recovered and threw the masked figure from his frame, and quickly rose to full height.

Rushing forward the Ocelot took no chances. His hips rotated with fluid ease, his abdominal muscles supporting him tightly, the weight of his body becoming equally balanced. The ball of his foot was raised, allowing his dominant leg to rise, as his body pivoted on the spot, his arms flexed in both support and shield, showing the gentle, perfect strength of his muscles, as his foot made contact with his adversary sending him backwards.

Startled, the Knight groaned, yet quickly managed to grab the Ocelot's descending leg, pulling him forward and mercilessly, back handing him, sending the thief to the ground, in a startled pile.

Neither man was ready to admit defeat.

With practised ease the Ocelot rolled forward, quickly moving into a low sweeping kick, knocking the Knight backwards before leaping forward, quickly moving from an under guard to full mount, his body sitting confidently on the Knight's torso. Gripping the Knight by the neck, the Ocelot raised his other arm backwards ready to thrust forward a deliberating punch… but suddenly stopped, unsure at what halted him.

"You're good," the Ocelot whispered through his mask, "I almost broke out into a sweat. Almost."

"Save the flattery for the judge."

The Ocelot waved a finger coyly, mocking his combatant. "That would mean you would have to catch me, wouldn't it?" The Ocelot hurled himself backwards, moving across the rooftop in expert back flips, until he disappeared over the edge of the roof, his voice echoing loudly: "Catch me if you can!"

The Knight pursued quickly. He had been sure the Ocelot would render him unconscious with a direct hit to the head, but for some reason he stopped. It was strange, but even the last time they had met, the Knight was sure, at the back of his mind, there was something familiar about his annoying opponent.

Rushing down the fire escape, the Knight caught sight of the Ocelot, three flights below him. Their eyes locked through the grated metal, before the Ocelot rethought his movements and quickly positioned himself across to the next building, leaping onto the large Victorian window ledges. Without a second thought, the Knight followed in pursuit, never quite managing to reduce the gap between them.

"Come on," the Ocelot laughed, quickly dropping down to the next level, his hands just catching the ledge, and then the next before he quickly leapt backwards, landing on top of the roof of a large double decker bus.

The Knight stood motionless, his mind ranging from sheer anger to bewilderment, as the Ocelot placed his thumbs to his temples, and twiddled his fingers in childish, surprising torment...

That was it!

With a deep steadying breath the Knight refocused himself before launching forwards, his feet seeming to consume the rooftops as he moved like a flash of silver lightening through the night sky in pursuit of the bus and, more importantly, the man who had become his nemesis.

The Ocelot's smug satisfaction faded as he looked up to see the silver figure a few buildings behind him, he had been certain that he had beaten the Knight but it seemed he had underestimated his opponent and, despite himself, he couldn't help but admire the Knight's fluid graceful movements as he closed the gap between them.

The sudden halt of the bus caused the Ocelot to stumble a step before catching himself but, as the vehicle paused at the traffic lights, its engine rumbling noisily beneath the Ocelot's feet, the Knight charged forward, leaping from one roof top to the one below it and then, with a final impressive vault he landed squarely on the back of the bus's roof just as the lights changed and it continued its journey forwards.

"Hope you weren't trying to lose me," The Knight asked, his voice calm, betraying none of the exertion required to catch up with the Ocelot.

"Course not," the Ocelot replied, his eyes quickly surveying their passage through the streets of Hollyoaks City in an attempt to calculate his best escape route. "Just thought you could do with a run."

"You're the one running Ocelot," the Knight said as he walked slowly to where the mysterious black clad man was stood, "But it's time to stop, give it up…"

The Ocelot shook his head in disagreement, his manner seemingly relaxed but in reality he was tensed to spring at any moment, either in escape or attack, whichever opportunity came first.

"Give back what you've stolen and maybe the courts will go easy on you," the Knight offered, taking a few more steps forward until the two men were almost within touching distance.

"Now why would I do that?"

"To get a lesser sentence…"

"But that would involve being caught."

"There's nowhere left to run Ocelot."

"There's always somewhere," the Ocelot replied with a sharp bark of a laugh, turning to leap from the bus as a high sided lorry passed beside them.

Seeing the Ocelots intentions the Knight mirrored the man's movement, grabbing his arm firmly and preventing his escape onto the roof of the other vehicle, the momentum causing them both to fall, their hands scrabbling at the roof beneath them to prevent falling.

"You're quick," the Ocelot said with a hint of admiration. He had never known a man like the Knight and, in a different lifetime, he couldn't help but think they would have made an amazing partnership. "But I'm quicker."

With an athletic spring the Ocelot vaulted high over the Knights head, landing squarely on his feet he darted towards the other end of the bus, but the Knight refused to be beaten and was only a heartbeat behind, his hands reaching out to catch the thief once and for all.

Sensing the Knight's proximity the Ocelot ducked to avoid the man's hands grabbing him, but his calculations were a fraction out and, although the Knight did not connect with the arms that were his goal the protector did not come away empty handed, his fingers catching the edge of the Ocelot's mask and tearing it from his face.

The Ocelot turned in an involuntary act of amazement and for the first time the Knight saw the features of his enemy.

Craig's hands flew to his face as the realisation struck that he had been unmasked and for a moment both men froze.

Craig recovered first and, summoning up all the strength he possessed he leapt into the air and aimed a forceful kick at the Knight's middle. The silver clad man did nothing to defend himself and was felled by the blow, collapsing onto the roof of the bus as the Ocelot, Craig, took a second opportunity to jump onto a passing vehicle and quickly disappeared into the night.

The Knight lay on the roof of the bus without moving, the black mask still gripped in his fingers.

"Craig," he breathed silently to himself.

He didn't want to believe it, he couldn't believe it, but at the same time he couldn't deny it.

The Ocelot, the criminal he hated and Craig Dean, the man he loved, were one and the same.

Craig sat on top of the HGV as it continued to carry him to a destination he did not know. He no longer thought it important. The Knight had seen his face and it was only a matter of time now before it was all over, there was only the slightest chance that he hadn't been recognised and Craig didn't like his odds. It was time to leave. But how did he tell John Paul? How did he leave John Paul?

The Knight finally got to his feet and stuffed the Ocelot's mask into one of his pockets.

For the first time in his life the Knight didn't know what to do.

The Knight half of him said he should turn in the man he knew to be a thief, a criminal and the bane of his existence for so long. The John Paul side however was desperate to find a reason, an excuse, anything that he could use to convince himself that Craig Dean was still the man he had fallen in love with.

John Paul McQueen, the Knight and Craig Dean, the Ocelot. Lovers or enemies? They couldn't be both. Could they?


	6. Chapter 6

John Paul couldn't sleep; in fact he hadn't even tried. How could he knowing what he knew? How could he ever find rest with that knowledge spinning around in his head until it made him physically nauseous?

He felt betrayed, cheated, like someone had offered him a dream and then cruelly snatched it away.

Craig Dean was a lie. The kind, gentle, fun, exciting, loving man was in fact a thief, a criminal, the monster that John Paul had vowed to bring down.

What else was Craig keeping from him? If he could hide something as big as this what else could he be hiding? Did John Paul even know him at all?

John Paul laughed, a sharp bitter snort, as he caught a glimpse of his haunted reflection in the window of his living room. Craig wasn't the only liar was he? They had both hidden a large part of themselves from the other but, John Paul told himself, it wasn't the same. John Paul took on the persona of the Knight to help and protect, the Ocelot was a thief and Craig's lies had only been a benefit to himself.

The Knight had to turn him in. He had to. It was his duty; it was what he had spent the last few years dedicating his life to. How could he ignore what he knew just because it was an inconvenience to him?

But whatever the Knight felt, whatever he believed, John Paul McQueen loved Craig and that conflict was the hardest challenge that the Knight or John Paul had ever faced.

---

Craig couldn't sleep; in fact he hadn't even tried. How could he now that he had been discovered? How could he ever find rest with the thought of someone knowing his identity spinning around in his head until it made him physically nauseous?

He felt like an idiot letting the Knight unmask him so easily and now everything that he had was going to be cruelly snatched away.

He jumped at every sound, convinced that "they" were coming for him. It was only a matter of time; the Knight had seen his face six hours ago, what was taking so long? Was it possible that that infuriating armour clad hero hadn't recognised him? It was possible but Craig couldn't take the chance. The longer he stayed the more chance of being caught and the idea of a life behind bars did not appeal at all.

He had once talked to John Paul about leaving the city and going far away, but would the man be prepared to drop everything without reason and go with him?

"What am I going to do?" Craig asked the cats who had been pacing the floor with him, sensing his unease but unable to soothe it.

"Mrrow…" Nikolai cried; winding his lithe body in and out of Craig's legs and looking up at his owner with large soulful green eyes that made Craig smile sadly. How could he take Nikolai and Malaysia if he went on the run? It looked like the Knight's discovery was going to cost him everything.

---

John Paul scrubbed a hand over his weary face. For years he had lived on little sleep, thriving on the energy that coursed through his veins as he patrolled the city streets, only seeking rest when the first rays of morning illuminated the skies, and sometimes not even then.

For the first time in as long as he could remember John Paul felt tired. Not just the hint of weariness that sometimes bothered him until he chased it away with a strong coffee but a bone deep exhaustion that made his body cry out for the rest that he knew would elude him.

He had to make a decision. He had to DO something, anything rather than pace his flat with the moment when he saw Craig's face playing over and over in his mind.

But what could he do? What action could John Paul take? The action of the Knight or the man? What was stronger his belief or his love? As he paced his apartment John Paul knew there was only one way he could find his answers, only one person that could provide them.

Picking up his mobile phone John Paul realised that this wasn't a conversation he could have over the telephone. He needed to do it face to face. He needed to see Craig's eyes; to know if everything he had believed the man to be really was a lie.

With his thumb dancing quickly over the keys of his phone John Paul sent a text, his hands shaking as he thought about what he would say, what he would do.

The next few hours could change everything, maybe even end everything. But whatever happened there would be no going back.

---

Running his hand through his hair Craig took in his reflection in the large ornate mirror that presided over his fireplace.

He was a handsome man; he knew that, it wasn't vanity to think such a thing but a simple statement of fact. People paid him ridiculous amounts of money for that face, that body, to advertise their goods, to make the clothes they had designed or the fragrances they had created that bit more desirable. But Craig had never quite understood it, he knew he was good looking but he never managed to see himself as anything so special that he deserved to be lauded because of something he had no control over. He often felt a fraud as he smiled for the camera, pretending he was something that he wasn't. But when John Paul looked at him, when those soft blue eyes stared directly into his soul and whispered words of love; that was when Craig Dean felt like the most handsome man in the world.

Craig hadn't slept for over 24 hours but the eyes that observed him from the mirror were not sunken or red with tiredness, instead they shone with the brightness of a man who had had his full quota of rest. He didn't look like a man who had raced over the city rooftops in the early hours of the morning, taunting his pursuer and enjoying the game as much as he had enjoyed the earlier robbery.

Craig, the Ocelot, was a thief, he knew what he was and what he did and some part of him even knew that his actions were "wrong". But he wasn't evil, he wasn't like the Fox or countless other criminals he knew of, he didn't revel in other people's pain.

Craig would rather walk away from a prize if it meant putting someone in danger. No one got hurt, the items he stole were usually so well insured that the owner would be compensated far above the value of what was taken. No one got hurt. Craig took pride in that knowledge, whatever he might do when dressed as the Ocelot, no one ever got hurt.

A sudden beeping broke Craig's reverie, his gaze turning from his own reflection towards the sofa where his mobile phone had been causally dropped some time in the early hours. Picking it up Craig smiled as he saw a message from John Paul but as he read the photographers words his smile turned to a frown. It wasn't like John Paul to be so blunt or so abrupt and the curtness of the message worried him.

"I need to see you. I don't care what you're doing get round here. NOW!"

What could have happened to make John Paul need to see him so urgently? It really felt as if life had decided to throw one disaster after another at him and, as Craig pulled on his jacket, he thought that the only reason for John Paul's message, John Paul's urgent need to see him was to give Craig the news he had always dreaded. That things were over.

---

"Craig." There was no smile on John Paul's face as he answered the door and no warm tone to his voice. In fact he was so expressionless that the sight gave Craig chills. He had never seen his lover so seemingly devoid of emotion before and it unnerved him.

What Craig couldn't see was the turmoil that was spinning around in John Paul's heart and mind, the confusion the panic and the uncertainty,

He wanted to kiss Craig and he wanted to hit him, to protect him and to turn him in. John Paul's heart had never been so conflicted and he was consumed with the urge to run away and hide. But he couldn't. The Knight couldn't and so neither could John Paul.

"What's wrong?" Craig asked as he stepped over the threshold, trying, and failing, to ignore the lack of affection in John Paul's greeting, the absence of a kiss stinging as harshly as any blow to his face would.

"I need to talk to you."

"Yeah I gathered that… what's wrong?"

"You tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me Craig," John Paul said, turning his back on the dark haired model and looking out of the window at the early morning city, "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"What? No… what is this John Paul?" Craig moved to stand behind his boyfriend, his hands resting on the man's shoulders as he looked at their combined reflection in the glass. "Has something happened? Is something wrong? Tell me… please."

"Wrong?" John Paul echoed with a pained laugh, "Everything's wrong Craig… WE'RE wrong…"

"No, don't say that… don't ever say that…"

"I need to show you something." Shrugging Craig's hands from his shoulders John Paul walked towards the bedroom. "In here…"

"I think I've seen everything you have in your bedroom," Craig laughed, the tension was uncomfortable but his humour did nothing to alleviate it.

"Just look," John Paul said, stopping for an instant and grabbing Craig's hands, pulling the man close to him, close enough to breathe in the warm fragrance that was both comforting and arousing and, right at that moment, frightening. "Do you really love me Craig Dean?" John Paul asked earnestly.

"You know I do… of course I do… more than… more than I ever knew I could…"

"Then look, look in that room and you tell me what the hell we do… because I don't know… I just… I don't know…"

Pushing open the door to his bedroom John Paul sighed sadly and then walked away. He didn't want to see Craig's expression, he didn't want to see everything change in an instant, he didn't want to see the love that Craig had just claimed die in his warm brown eyes.

"What am I supposed to be…" Craig began but he quickly stopped when he saw it. It didn't seem possible, plausible, yet there it was and there was no mistaking what he was looking at.

Laid out neatly on the top of John Paul's bed was the startlingly familiar outfit of the Knight. The armour plating shone brightly in the early morning sunlight, its rays dancing and striking at Craig's eyes, making him wince but he was unable to look away.

"What is this?" He asked quietly. "Fancy dress?"

But he knew it wasn't. He had seen the fancy dress costumes of the Knight, they were a pale imitation of the real thing and there was no mistaking the frightening reality of the outfit he was staring at.

"I know who you are… Ocelot," John Paul said softly, his words echoing around the otherwise silent room, "And I know what you are."

"John Paul?" Craig breathed, pulling his gaze from the horror laid out on the bed. "You? You're the… No you can't be… it's not… no…"

"Give me one good reason Ocelot," John Paul said through gritted teeth, "Tell me why I shouldn't turn you in right now?"

"John Paul…"

"Just one reason… come on Ocelot, you were full of words last night… no witty banter now? No clever come back?"

"John Paul stop it…" Craig pleaded. It was too much, the truth was too much. John Paul couldn't be the Knight, he couldn't be that person; he just couldn't.

"You're a thief," John Paul snapped, suddenly grabbing Craig harshly by the shoulders and shaking him as his words spat directly into the startled man's face. "You're a thief and a liar and… and you disgust me… everything I believed you were…"

"I'm still me," Craig said quietly, his hands reaching up to cup John Paul's face gently, his molten chocolate eyes filled with pain and tears as he looked at the face of the man who loved him, or hated him, he wasn't sure which. "I'm still just me…"

"No… you're a lie… I thought you were… I thought I knew you…"

"And you do… nothing's changed John Paul."

"Everything's changed…"

"Why?"

"WHY?" John Paul shook his head sadly. "Because… because you're the Ocelot Craig… you're the Ocelot…"

"And I was yesterday," Craig replied, his thumbs stroking John Paul's cheeks as he continued to hold the man's face firmly, "And I was the day before that and the week before… and I was the day you met me…"

"But I didn't know," John Paul whispered, the blue pools of his eyes glistening with tears. He loved Craig, but he hated the Ocelot, how could he feel two different emotions for the one man? "You lied to me."

"But I'm not the only one am I? Or did I miss the conversation where you told me about the Knight?"

"That's not the same…"

"It's exactly the same. I didn't tell you because… because I didn't want to put you at risk… and I didn't want to lose you… I still don't…"

"I should turn you in…"

"So why haven't you?"

"What?"

"Why haven't you John Paul? Why hasn't the Knight called the cops and got me taken away?" Craig moved forward slowly as he spoke until his words were breathed against John Paul's lips. His heart raced with fear and love, his head spinning as he looked at the man who had captured him heart and soul. "Why am I standing here now and not in some prison cell?"

"I don't know…"

"Yes you do." Craig pressed his mouth softly against John Paul's in a kiss so light and chaste that it was almost as if a feather had brushed over their lips and yet it was enough to make them both shiver. "It's because you know I'm still me… I'm still Craig… Your Craig…"

"My Craig?"

"Yes…"

"No… how can you be?" John Paul closed his eyes, tears tumbling over his cheeks as he shook his head. "You're the Ocelot…"

"Am I?" Craig kissed John Paul's damp cheeks softly before tilting John Paul's face up towards him, "Am I John Paul? Look at me… Please John Paul just look at me and tell me who you see."

Opening his eyes John Paul took a deep breath. "You're the Ocelot."

"No… who do you see…"

"Craig…" The name fell from John Paul's lips in a whisper as if he were afraid to say it, or unable to believe it.

"Just Craig," Craig agreed with a small smile.

"No!" Shaking his head forcefully John Paul pushed his lover away, turning once again to the window. The day seemed unnaturally bright and the sunlight taunted him, it felt like a day that should be filled with rain. "It's not that simple Craig… you're a thief and you can't just expect me to ignore that fact."

"Why not?"

"What?"

"Why not John Paul? What does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!"

"Why?"

"Because you're the Ocelot, you're a thief Craig and I… I'm the Knight… I spend my life catching people like you and now… now you want me to just let it go because… what because I love you?"

"Isn't that enough reason?" Craig slipped his arms around John Paul's waist and kissed the man's neck softly. "We're good together, you know that… and who do I hurt John Paul? Who do I hurt?"

"The people you steal from…"

"What… so they lose a little something they probably didn't value in the first place… and they're upset right up until the moment when the insurance cheque comes in… nobody gets hurt John Paul… nobody ever gets hurt."

The pressure of Craig's kisses increased, his grip tightening around his lover. At that moment Craig didn't know what scared him the most, the thought of a life behind bars or the idea of a life without John Paul.

"You can't justify what you do by just saying no one gets hurt," John Paul said, leaning back into the strength of Craig's embrace without even realising what he was doing.

"I love you John Paul," Craig whispered, his mouth hot against John Paul's ear, "And you love me… anything else… well anything else we can get past…"

"Easy as that?" John Paul asked, his eyes had slid shut and his skin tingled with the moist heat of Craig's soft mouth as the man nuzzled into neck. Craig Dean was a criminal and he should be punished. Craig Dean was an amazing man and John Paul loved him. "I can't do this," John Paul panted, his words convincing neither of them as Craig's hands stroked over his chest, his fingers deftly slipping open the buttons as the growing firmness of Craig's groin pressed into John Paul's buttocks.

"Yes you can," Craig said softly. "Why am I here John Paul? Why am I here with you if you think I should be locked away."

"I don't know," John Paul replied, "You're a criminal, a thief… you should… I should…"

"But you haven't and you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you know John Paul… you know that what we have is worth more than masks… we're more than just the Ocelot and the Knight…"

"But…" John Paul said with uncertainty. He wanted to accept Craig's words and to forget what he had discovered the night before. But he couldn't. Could he? Would the morals of the Knight give in to the love of the man?

"Shhh," Craig breathed. "No more buts John Paul… stop analysing what you THINK you should do… what do you want to do? Right now… what is it you want?"

John Paul span around quickly in Craig's embrace, his eyes burning with a fire fierce enough to melt the polar icecaps in an instant as he grabbed his lover's shoulders roughly.

"You," John Paul said, his voice almost a growl, his hands leaving Craig's shoulders to sink into the hair at the back of the mans head as John Paul moved in to kiss him. "I want you."

The men half-walked half-stumbled into the bedroom, hands pulling at clothing in a frantic desire to uncover the pleasure of bare flesh that lay hidden beneath.

The combination of their mutual desires and the fear, frustration and worry of the past few hours culminated in a passion that left both men hot and breathless even before the last of their clothes had fallen to the floor.

Pushing Craig onto the bed with one hand John Paul used the other to push the Knight's outfit to the floor, where it landed with a clank of armour that went completely unnoticed by the two lovers.

Following the model onto the bed John Paul straddled Craig's hips, catching the man's hands and pinning them above his head.

"Looks like you've caught me," Craig said, his chocolate eyes burning with desire and he devoured John Paul with his gaze.

The muscles in the photographer's arms tensed and rippled as he held his prey tightly, his thighs were firm against Craig's and his pale skin seemed to glow in the morning sunlight.

Craig swallowed, subconsciously licking his lips as his eyes travelled over his lover's body, coming to rest on the man's erect cock, which was already leaking precum, a visual indication of his arousal if one were needed.

"What have you done to me Craig Dean?" John Paul breathed, his words heavy with a longing that made his soul ache.

"Anything you want me to…" Craig replied with a lascivious wink as he strained against John Paul's hold in an attempt to claim his lover's mouth.

"You've stolen my principals… my life… and I…"

"And you?"

"And I fucking love you!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"How about you show me just how much…"

John Paul laughed lustfully. He didn't know what the future would hold, he didn't know if he could turn a blind eye to the crimes of the Ocelot or if the Knight would let him, but at that moment it didn't matter. The man he loved was naked beneath him; the future would just have to take care of itself.

Leaning forward John Paul pressed his mouth hard against Craig's, his tongue teasing at the small love above the man's upper lip before pushing its way into the heat of his mouth, exploring its moist depths to the growing moans of them both, exacerbated by the way their cocks ground together as their kiss grew harder and deeper.

"Oh god John Paul…" Craig panted as the photographer pulled back from their kiss, smiling as he admired his lover's soft pink lips that looked fuller and pinker after the force of their kiss.

Without a word John Paul let go of Craig's hands, his eyes instructing the man not to move, an instruction the model was more than happy to follow, as he adjusted his position until his was astride his lover's chest, his cock hovering a few inches from Craig's full lips.

Holding his cock in one hand John Paul's drew a precum smile over his boyfriend's mouth, the mans lips shining with his essence as they parted and the tip of his tongue poked out to lap at the underside of John Paul's cock.

"Did I tell you that you could do that?" John Paul admonished, slapping Craig's cheek with his cock, leaving behind a glistening mark on the man's smiling face. "Maybe I don't want you licking my dick…"

"No? So what do you want me to do to it?"

"Guess," John Paul said as he pushed his cock between Craig's lips, pulling back his foreskin and allowing Craig to suck against the exposed head. "Good guess," John Paul groaned as Craig sucked hard against him, his foreskin pressing up against Craig's lips as John Paul stroked his length.

The more Craig opened his mouth the deeper John Paul pushed his cock inside as the model feasted hungrily on him. Craig's recent fears were forgotten as he savoured the feel of John Paul's hard thick cock throbbing in his mouth, making his gag slightly as it hit the back of his throat, but not making him want to stop, he never wanted to stop.

Closing his eyes John Paul placed one hand against the wall to support himself as he began to buck his hips, sliding his cock slowly in and out of the heat of Craig's sucking mouth making him moan his approval.

Breaking the instructions of John Paul's bright blue eyes Craig reached out a hand to cup the man's heavy balls, rolling them in his palm as he sucked hard against John Paul's cock, slurping his enjoyment of his wonderful feast.

"Oh fuck Craig," John Paul panted as the man brought him close to release, making him reluctantly with draw his cock from the man's gorgeous mouth because, as good as that felt, there was something else he wanted so much more.

Moving back down the bed John Paul eased Craig's legs apart, gripping the man's ankles and raising them to his balance on shoulders and he knelt before his lover.

Returning his hands to their earlier position Craig swallowed with anticipation, the thought of what was to come almost enough to make him climax. With his legs resting on John Paul's shoulders Craig's arse was raised for his lover's approval, and it twitched hungrily as John Paul's hands slid slowly down the length of his thighs before letting one finger dance around his tight puckered hole.

Craig moaned, raising his hips higher as John Paul's finger taunted him, making him want what was so far eluding him.

"Oh please John Paul," Craig moaned as the man pushed against his hole without actually entering him. "Please god don't make me wait…"

John Paul smiled, lifting his fingers to his mouth momentarily to spit against them before easing one, two and very quickly three into Craig's waiting hole. The dark haired man moaned loudly as John Paul's fingers plundered him, raising himself as high as he could with the need to make them go deeper.

"Fuck me John Paul," Craig growled, "For fucks sake… please…"

"Tell me you love me," John Paul insisted as his fingers tickled delightfully against Craig's prostate.

"I do… I do… I love you…" Craig panted, his face flushed and his brow glistening with sweat.

"Tell me you want me…"

"More than anything in this world…"

"Tell me how good this feels." In a single fluid motion John Paul replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, driving it hard and fast into his lover's eager hole.

"Oh fuck yes!" Craig cried as the thickness and length of John Paul's cock filled him, sending electricity through every fibre of his being until he was unable to think of anything but the amazing sensations of his flesh.

Craig's legs slid down to wrap around John Paul's waist as the men began to rock together in a slow erotic dance. Reaching out John Paul gripped onto Craig's wrists as he rode his lover faster and deeper, the men's eyes locked together and their lips parted as their moans mingled together in the heat of their breaths.

"Say you love me," John Paul said again, his whole body aching with the need for release, the need to claim his lover as his own.

"I love you," Craig groaned, the feel of John Paul's cock deep inside him was unbearably wonderful and his own cock throbbed in time with each thrust of his lover, threatening to explode at any moment. "I fucking love you…"

"You're mine Craig Dean," John Paul growled, "You're mine…"

"Fuck yes… Oh god John Paul harder… I'm gonna… oh please fuck me harder…"

John Paul's back was slick with sweat as he drove his cock as hard and fast into his boyfriend as he could manage, watching the man's dark eyes widen with each thrust until he suddenly arched his back and cried out loudly, his belly quickly becoming coated in wave after wave of hot sticky come as the force of John Paul's cock inside him was enough to bring him to climax.

Leaning in deeper John Paul sought out Craig's mouth, kissing him hard, their tongues dancing and massaging together.

Moaning into their kiss John Paul's whole body shuddered as Craig's contracting hole pushed him over the edge and he slammed his cock in hard as it pulsed out the heat of its pleasure deep inside Craig's silky flesh until there was not a drop left to give.

Falling onto the bed beside his lover John Paul could hardly catch his breath. His heart was racing so fast it seemed impossible to be contained within his chest and yet he knew it wasn't beating like that out of physical exertion.

"I love you Craig Dean," he panted as he pulled the man into his arms and held him tightly.

"Good," Craig replied, listening to the heart that seemed to be beating in time with his own, "Cause I love you too… you and me John Paul… nothing can touch us."

---

"Put the coffee on," John Paul called over his shoulder as he wrapped a long overcoat around his naked form, "I'm just gonna nip downstairs and grab my post… I'm expecting a preview copy of Vogue with my latest shoot."

Without waiting for an answer John Paul grabbed his keys and padded barefoot from the apartment.

With a sigh and a stretch of his limbs Craig pulled himself from the warmth and comfort of John Paul's bed, his eye catching a glimpse of the Knight's silver armour where it had been pushed to the floor.

Craig Dean loved being the Ocelot. He loved the thrill, the excitement and the challenge. He even loved, to a lesser degree, the prize that he gained at the end of each robbery. But the love of all those things combined didn't even make up a fraction of the love he felt for the amazing blue-eyed photographer and, if he had to make a choice, there would be no contest.

Slipping into John Paul's dark blue towelling robe Craig made his way to the kitchen. Catching a glimpse of himself in the shining chrome of the kettle Craig noticed just how much he was smiling. For the first time in as long as he could remember he was free from lies. John Paul knew him, knew his secrets, and still loved him.

Craig looked up at the sound of the front door, his smile dying as John Paul entered the kitchen, the mornings newspaper in his outstretched hand, its headline clearly visible.

"Clare Devine Murdered – Ocelot suspected."

"Please Craig," John Paul whispered, "Tell me you didn't."

"What? What… no… no of course not…" Craig stammered as he reached out to take the newspaper.

"No?" John Paul asked, the paper still in his grasp as he turned the headlines back towards himself. "So explain this to me then Craig," John Paul said, "Explain how 'the Ocelot remains the only suspect after his traditional calling card was found secreted at the back of Clare Devine's personal safe.'"

"Oh."

"Just oh?"

"You don't really believe I'm a killer do you?" Craig asked, his deep brown eyes wide with hurt and fear. If John Paul didn't believe his innocence then he knew there was no chance that anyone else would.

"I don't know what to believe," John Paul replied sadly as he slumped into the seat beside the kitchen table and lay the newspaper down. "A couple of days ago I wouldn't have believed you were a thief… but I would have been wrong wouldn't I?"

"But this isn't the same… Murder John Paul… you know me, you can't believe I'm capable of that."

"No," John Paul said with a small shake of his head, "I don't believe YOU are… but I don't know what the Ocelot is capable of…"

"Not that," Craig whispered as he took the seat across the table from his lover, reaching for the hand that was pulled away from him, "Not that John Paul… please you have to believe me… John Paul look at me… tell me you don't think I did it…"

John Paul's eyes were the colour of the ocean as he turned them to Craig and the turmoil of the sea seemed to be rolling through them. Craig couldn't be a killer, but then Craig couldn't be a thief and he was, how much more was there to the man he had fallen in love with? How much more that John Paul didn't know about? He felt as if he had only just begun to scratch the surface of the man who had stolen more than just the jewels he desired; he had stolen John Paul's heart.

"No," John Paul said finally, after staring into the frightened depths of Craig's chocolate eyes for what felt like a lifetime. There might still be things about Craig that he didn't know, secrets that he hadn't discovered, but John Paul was sure that he knew the heart of the man and that heart was not one of a killer. "No I don't think you did it… but make me understand Craig… Please I need that… why where you there? What the hell was in Clare Devine's office that attracted the attention of the Ocelot? Why Craig?"

"I… it's… you won't like it," Craig replied sadly.

"I don't like this," John Paul said gesturing to the newspaper headlines, "How can anything you have to tell me be worse than that?"

"Do you love me John Paul?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"I have to know…"

Reaching across the table John Paul took hold of Craig's hand, which trembled as he touched it, gripping it tightly as he locked his gaze with the models. "I love you Craig Dean… now tell me… please…"

"I… I…" Craig took a deep breath, pausing as he looked into his lover's eyes and he suddenly felt calm. He hadn't even explained yet but John Paul believed him and Craig realised, as he felt himself lost in the blue of John Paul's stare, that nothing mattered as much as John Paul's faith in him. "I never stole the Red Death Diamond from the museum…"

"Craig!" John Paul objected, he was certain that the missing jewel was in Craig's possession and he couldn't bare the thought that Craig was lying to him.

"I didn't say I don't have it," Craig continued, "But I didn't take it from the museum… Yeah I was going to… and I went to… but someone beat me to it."

"Beat you? Who?"

"The Fox!"

John Paul laughed suddenly, he didn't know why but suddenly the idea of someone beating the Ocelot to the diamond struck him as highly amusing. "That must have pissed you off!"

"Yeah you could say that," Craig said, unable to avoid joining in John Paul's warm laughter.

"So how did you get it then?"

"I was pretty certain I knew who had it… I'd actually seen him in the museum a few days earlier when I was checking out the place," Craig shook his head at himself, "I should have realised at the time he was after it too… damn I should have got it sooner…"

"OK…" John Paul said with a frown, there was something about this that was already bothering him greatly, "So what happened?"

"Well I knew he must have had it but I didn't know where to find him… and then I saw him coming out of the DevineFashions offices and after a quick unannounced visit to Clare I knew she was keeping it for him, hell I saw it in her hand – even though she had it shoved in a drawer a second later… so I went and got it… and that is the ONLY reason I was there… I wouldn't… I mean I couldn't…"

"No I know," John Paul said, his frown growing deeper and more troublesome. "So you knew the Fox had the diamond and then you saw him at DevineFashions?"

"Yeah…"

"You saw him?"

"Yeah… I said…"

"Craig… the Fox is one of the most notorious criminals in this city… he's pure evil… you know what he does to people…"

"Yeah? I don't see…"

"No one knows who he is Craig… at least no one on the side of the law… how could you let him carry on like he does when you know what he's capable of?"

"I… I never… John Paul it's not my place to start turning people in…"

"You could have done something… made a phone call… sent a note… Craig's that man is a vicious killer and…"

"Oh fuck!" The colour drained from Craig's face as he leapt up from his seat, the wooden chair being pushed backwards and crashing to the floor with the speed of his movement. Craig's hands flew to his face as his eyes widened in horror.

"Craig… Craig what is it?" John Paul asked, by Craig's side in a heartbeat and taking hold of the man's hands that were shaking violently. He had never see the man look so pale, so afraid, sickened almost, and the sight terrified him. "Craig tell me… what's wrong…"

"What you said… the Fox… he's a killer… a vicious killer…"

"You knew that…"

"But he's a killer John Paul… he did it… he's the person who killed Clare… it's obvious."

"Well that's good then," John Paul said in a soothing tone. "We can tell the police… or I can… the Knight can… you'll be in the clear."

"John Paul you don't get it," Craig said, frightened, distraught tears suddenly tumbling from his eyes, "The Fox killed Clare because she lost the diamond… or he thought she sold it behind his back… or because she let it get stolen… whatever the reason… Clare was killed because she didn't have the Red Death… because I DID… John Paul it's my fault… she was killed because of me… I am guilty. No one gets hurt John Paul… no one's ever supposed to get hurt…"

With a cry of pain that sounded both emotional and physical Craig crumpled to the floor, his whole body shaking violently as he sobbed and his hands beat against his head.

John Paul didn't know what to say. What could he say? He couldn't argue with Craig's logic, the chances were that Clare was killed as a result of the Ocelot's theft. But that didn't make the man guilty, did it?

Kneeling on the floor beside the distraught man John Paul did the only thing he could. He pulled Craig into his arms, holding the man tightly with a gentle rocking motion as he breathed soft soothing sounds into his rich dark hair.

"It'll be alright Craig," John Paul whispered but he had no idea how, all he knew was that he loved the man in his embrace and he wasn't going to let him down.

---

Craig sipped at the hot tea that John Paul had just put into his hands and winced.

"That's a bit sweet," he said with a grimace.

John Paul shrugged. "It's supposed to be good for shock."

"Is that what this is? Shock?"

"What else?" John Paul asked as he sat beside his boyfriend on the sofa and gently stroked the man's bare leg.

It had taken John Paul some time to get Craig up from the kitchen floor and into the living room, after which the photographer had dressed and made tea while Craig sat in silence, still clothed only in John Paul's towelling robe. Under difference circumstances John Paul would have found the idea of his barely dressed lover incredibly arousing, knowing that his naked form could be revealed by nothing more than a tug of the robe's tie-belt, but the concern for Craig over-wrote all other thoughts and the touch to his exposed skin was simply an attempt to soothe.

"It's guilt," Craig said after a pause, "It's not shock John Paul… it's guilt. Someone is dead and it's all my fault."

"No Craig…"

"We both know it's true John Paul… if I hadn't…"

"You didn't kill her," John Paul reasoned, taking the mug from Craig's hands and turning the man's face towards him. Craig's eyes were dark, and so pained that it made John Paul want to weep, but more than that it made him want to rescue Craig from his suffering. "You didn't do this…"

"But if I hadn't taken the diamond…" Craig began.

"What Craig? What do you think would have happened? Do you think the Fox is a man of principals? Do you think he would have honoured whatever deal he'd made with Clare? Let her live knowing that there was someone out there who could turn him in at any moment? Clare Devine made a deal with the devil and I don't think she would ever have gotten out of it alive."

For a moment a spark of hope seemed to glint in the depths of Craig's eyes but was gone a second later. "You don't know that," he sighed. "You can't know that…"

"I've see what the Fox can do Craig… I've seen the aftermath of what he does… he isn't the sort of man who leaves loose ends. This isn't your fault."

"Maybe," Craig replied, leaning forward to rest his head on John Paul's shoulder. He suddenly felt tired, so very tired. Everything had happened so quickly, the past twenty-four hours filled with so much that he couldn't process anymore and, as he snuggled closer into the warmth of John Paul's strong embrace, Craig allowed sleep to take over him, taking rest in the only place in the world he truly felt safe.

---

Craig's stomach growled with hunger as the aroma of bacon filtered through his senses making his mouth water. Stretching for a moment Craig wondered why his two cats weren't leaping on his chest as they normally did when he awoke, then he remembered where he was, who was cooking the bacon and, more painfully, why he was there.

Rubbing his eyes Craig wondered if it was possible just to go back to sleep, to return to a place where a heavy weight of guilt didn't gnaw at his chest making him want to scream out.

"You're awake," John Paul said with a smile, standing over Craig as the man slowly opened his eyes.

"So it would seem," Craig replied, pulling himself upright on the sofa and stretching once more, "How long was I asleep."

"Couple of hours, I think you needed it. Come into the kitchen and have something to eat, it's just about ready and you must be famished."

Holding out his hand John Paul helped Craig to his feet, their hands clasping tightly together, not parting even after Craig was upright. Both men taking great comfort in the touch of each other as they headed for the kitchen.

"This is good," Craig mumbled around a mouth full of crispy bacon, his plate already half cleared of the eggs, bacon and sausage that had been put before him. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he had taken the first bite.

John Paul picked at his identical meal, his own appetite somewhat lacking. He couldn't bare seeing Craig suffer like he was, blaming himself, and he hated that this was one thing that the Knight couldn't make right, if anything he would have to make things worse.

"My mum used to cook it for us on a Sunday morning," John Paul said with a sad smile, "Traditional fry-up - she'd always say that was the best way to start your Sunday."

"Yeah? My mum too…I guess that's the English genes eh?"

"I guess so. We came over to American when I was six, I don't really remember living in England, just what she would tell us."

"You never really talk about your family… your past…"

"No I guess I don't… but then neither do you…"

The men looked at each other across the kitchen table, lost in their own thoughts but also recognising an unknown but shared pain of a past that had made them into the men they had become.

"I need to know Craig," John Paul, putting down his knife and fork and leaning his chin on his hands.

"Know?"

"Who he is… the Fox… I can't just… just leave him out there, knowing that I… that we could stop him."

"He's a dangerous man John Paul…"

"That's why he has to be stopped…"

"And then what?"

"And then he gets locked up."

"No for us… and then what for us?"

John Paul closed his eyes and took a slow deep breath. The part of him that was the Knight still battled with the idea of letting a thief go free, go unpunished and allowed to do whatever he wanted, it was as if he was condoning the man's criminal actions and that felt wrong. Whatever else John Paul believed or felt for the model he still hated the Ocelot, hated that Craig was the Ocelot.

"Would you give it up?" John Paul asked quietly without opening his eyes, almost afraid to see Craig's reaction.

"What?"

"Being the Ocelot," Opening his eyes slowly John Paul bit his lip. Craig Dean was possibly the most beautiful of all of god's creations and John Paul loved him more than he ever thought was humanly possible, but he still has to ask. He still had to know. "Would you Craig? Would you give up the Ocelot… for me?"


	7. Chapter 7

Warren Fox's face was impassive as he sat in his sparsely furnished lounge, the morning's newspaper scattered across the floor at his feet.

Warren had long since learned to lock his emotions away, no one had been allowed to get close to the man for as long as he could remember and he preferred it that way; at least he told himself he preferred it that way.

Despite his success as a criminal, and the vast fortune he had amassed over the years, his living conditions portrayed little of his wealth. He didn't care for displays of fortune, he knew how much money he had and he didn't need to see lavish furnishing in his home to remind him of the fact.

Warren Fox's two story detached house was simple. As simple as the man was himself. It was stark and empty, devoid of any real show of humanity, no personal trinkets adorned the mahogany fireplace and no paintings or photographs hung on the walls that were covered with a pale unobtrusive wallpaper, which Warren had chosen with little or no thought. It would do. His house was just somewhere to live, to sleep and eat, it wasn't a home. Warren Fox didn't have a home, not since the death of his sister many years earlier. The Fox didn't need a home. A home was somewhere a person would grow attached to and the Fox couldn't afford that. If he needed to he could leave that soulless building behind him without a backwards glance. It was a house, and that was all it was.

Picking up the front page of the newspaper once again Warren let out a sharp laugh, a blend of amusement and annoyance.

The Ocelot was the prime, and so far only, suspect in the death of Clare Devine and that fact amused Warren greatly.

He hated the Ocelot, that sneaky little thief had often swooped in and taken an item that the Fox had set his sights on. Not that the Fox ever wanted the jewels or precious items for himself, he never kept anything he stole but quickly sold them on to the highest bidder, the only beauty the Fox ever saw was the beauty of money and power, everything else was worthless.

It amused Warren that the man he considered his greatest, and probably only, rival was now the suspect in a murder that he had committed himself. His mouth curved up in a sneer like smile as he imagined the Ocelot behind bars, serving life for a crime he did not commit.

But Warren's amusement in the Ocelot's imagined incarceration was tarnished by another fact.

The Ocelot had been in Clare Devine's office and, although the police could ascertain no motive for his presence there, Warren knew there could be only one reason for the man's visit to that stupid woman's office. Somehow the Ocelot had discovered the location of the Red Death and had taken it.

The fact that Warren realised his anger and subsequent murder of the blonde woman was unfounded did not phase the man in the slightest, it wasn't like he ever really intended to share the proceeds of the theft with her and if she had objected or threatened to turn him in then the result would have been the same. The woman had been likely to die one way or another, it mattered nothing to Warren that he had killed her for the wrong reason.

The only thing that took the shine off Warren's enjoyment of the Ocelot's predicament was the knowledge that the man had taken something that belonged to him. And more importantly something the he had only seven days to recover before it would be Warren's own life in danger.

He had only two choices. To flee the city or recover the diamond, and he wasn't in the mood for running.

* * *

"What should I do?" Craig asked the bundle of fur held warmly in his arms. Nikolai rubbed his soft face against Craig's cheek and purred. The vibrations of the felines contentment felt strangely soothing to the model.

Craig laughed quietly as he lifted his cat at arms length above his head, two bright green eyes observing him lazily. "Like I should ask you," Craig said to Nikolai's disinterested face, "You don't even like John Paul do you?" Placing the cat down on the floor, Craig watched him scamper off to pounce on his sister, Malaysia mewing her annoyance at being woken and batting her brother away with one paw. "But I do," Craig continued, "I really do…"

Craig had left John Paul's apartment a few hours earlier but the man's words still echoed in his head as if they had been spoken only seconds ago… "Would you Craig? Would you give up the Ocelot… for me?"

Even before Craig had been able to form a response in his own mind John Paul had withdrawn the question saying that he had had no right to ask it, but no matter how much he might have insisted that no response was required the question had still been asked. It was out there and it hung between the two men like an ogre, ready to pounce and devour their happiness at any moment.

Looking at his reflection in the large mirror over the mantelpiece Craig raised one hand to his cheek; his fingertips felt the scratch of the stubble that he was growing for his upcoming photo shoot as he stared into the depths of his own eyes.

"Who are you?" Craig whispered to the man who looked back at him. Shaking his head the model turned from his reflection, he had no answer to that question. Was he Craig Dean the model or Craig Dean the Ocelot? Which part of him was the truth? Could he walk away from the crimes of the Ocelot as easily as that? That black clad figure was as much a part of him as the Craig he allowed the world to see, sometimes even more so.

In the beginning the thefts of the Ocelot had been born out of necessity, when the options were steal or starve the choice was easy to make but the lines were no longer so clearly defined. He stole simply because he loved it, the excitement of it all, the rush he got from breaking in, defeating the security systems and leaving with another glittering prize. Something that had begun as a necessity was now an addiction, and no addiction was easy to break.

But recently Craig had developed another addiction. The addiction of the touch of a blue eyed man, whose very presence made Craig's whole body vibrate with pleasure, whose voice both soothed and excited him and whose love made him feel alive, made him feel like 'Craig'.

Removing a key from a small trinket box Craig quickly deactivated his alarms and opened the hidden door that blended perfectly into the wall, the door to a room nobody knew but him. Flicking the light switch Craig let his eyes wander around the room. Each shelf and corner sparkled with a myriad of jewels, tokens of past crimes, of past achievements. Countless wealth that was hidden in a room where no one ever saw it, no one but Craig. Even the few paintings that he hung around his home were passed off as exquisite copies. Craig often longed to share his secret, to show off his treasures but he never had, never could.

A shimmering red glint caught Craig's eye and he turned his attention to the Red Death Diamond, lying on the floor where he had abandoned it some days earlier.

Picking up the jewel Craig ran his fingers over its blood red surface, the diamond was cold to the touch and a thousand tiny lights seemed to dance in its heart. But somehow its beauty seemed tarnished and Craig placed it down on his desk with a shudder.

He wasn't sure if it was the knowledge that his ownership of the diamond had resulted in Clare's death or the fact that John Paul knew he had it, but of all the items in his possession Craig knew there was only one he truly regretted taking.

The Red Death Diamond was priceless and beautiful; it was a jewel beyond compare and had been coveted by many men over the years. But Craig no longer wanted it.

Closing his eyes Craig turned away from the diamond, the cold chill of icy fingers running along his spine as he felt the touch of the Red Death's curse.

"Would you Craig?" the man asked himself in an echo of John Paul's question, "Could you?"

* * *

John Paul grumbled to himself as he carefully put away his camera and assortment of lenses. The shoot had been a disaster. The model had been so full of her own self-importance that she had dismissed all of John Paul's directions. Under normal circumstances John Paul's professionalism would have overcome such a minor issue and he would have easily charmed and cajoled the skinny clotheshorse into doing exactly what he wanted.

But it wasn't normal circumstances. John Paul's heart and mind where elsewhere and, only thirty minutes into the shoot, the photographer had regretted not cancelling the days work under a pretence of illness. He had thought the work would have been a good distraction from his inner thoughts but instead John Paul's thoughts were a distraction from his work and he dreaded to think how badly most of the shots would come out.

Since the moment of discovering the identity of the Ocelot John Paul's mind had been in turmoil.

He had asked Craig if he could give up the Ocelot on a moment's impulse and then instantly regretted it. He was scared that Craig would say no and that would destroy them, he was scared that Craig would say yes and that would destroy them.

No matter how hard he though, or what scenarios he ran through his mind, John Paul could find no solution. What right did he have to ask Craig to give up a part of himself? Could John Paul himself walk from his own secret identity at such a request? He wasn't sure he could, not even for Craig.

But how could the Ocelot and the Knight continue now that they knew? How could it be the same, how could anything be the same?

John Paul's head swam with a million unanswered, unanswerable questions and they made him want to scream. In all of his confusion there was only one thing that remained certain, unfaltering and steady. John Paul loved Craig, completely and irrevocably and, he silently prayed, that that would be enough. In the end it had to be enough.

* * *

"Tough day?" Craig asked as he handed John Paul a whisky, the golden liquid glistening inside the cut crystal glass, a glass that belonged to a set Craig had "liberated" a couple of years earlier.

"Oh you know," John Paul sighed, the first hit of the alcohol both burning and soothing his throat. "Bloody models."

Craig's eyebrows arched in amusement as he sat down bedside his lover on the sofa.

"Ah sorry," John Paul said with a small laugh.

"Not to worry… we're a difficult breed…"

"Difficult?" John Paul snorted. "How about stubborn and frustrating and opinionated and…"

"Don't hold back on my account will you…"

"Sorry… again…"

"Good job I'm not as bad as that eh?" Craig smiled as he took a sip from his own glass before stopping to admire the elegant beauty of the crystal, memories of the theft flooding his mind.

John Paul's laughter pulled the model's attention back to the present.

"What?" the dark haired man asked as John Paul continued to giggle into his drink. "Really… what?"

"Oh Craig I…"

"What…"

"No… no it doesn't matter… really forget it."

"Oh no! You don't get away with that… you have to tell me now!" Putting his glass to one side Craig leaned towards his boyfriend. "Now tell me what's funny… I am nothing like that to work with…"

"Look Craig," John Paul said desperately trying and failing to keep a straight face, "Don't take this the wrong way but…"

"But?"

"You're awful to work with…"

"I am not!" Craig's eyes widened with indignation at the very suggestion, his expression only serving to elicit more laughter from his lover.

"It's well known," John Paul said between giggles. "Every photographer in the city… and further… knows that Craig Dean is a pain to shoot!"

"I am NOT!"

"Craig you never take direction, you don't listen to instructions… you're a total nightmare!"

"I just know when I look my best," Craig pouted, "Nothing wrong with that…"

"So does your photographer," John Paul replied gently, putting down his drink and catching hold of the offended models fingers. "Sometimes you just have to learn to trust someone else's opinion…"

Craig smiled, a small uncertain half smile as he looked into the depths of John Paul's brilliant blue eyes. Craig Dean had never been very good at letting go of control, of letting other people take charge. In his teens, suddenly responsible for taking care of his mother, the young man had learned to be self reliant and, as the years passed, that had become ingrained into him, a part of his makeup and he found it hard to let it go. But there was something about John Paul that at least made him want to try.

"I trust yours," Craig said and for the first time in his life he meant it. For the first time since the death of his mother Craig knew that he was with someone who loved him completely, someone who he could trust his life to, and the knowledge was both liberating and terrifying.

"Craig I…" John Paul hesitated.

After the disastrous photo shoot John Paul's first impulse had been to go to see Craig. He knew that the dark haired man would quickly soothe his frustrations and take away his annoyance but, in the back of his mind, John Paul knew he had another reason for wanting to see his boyfriend.

"Doesn't matter," John Paul said with a shake of his head.

"No go on," Craig encouraged with a squeeze of John Paul's hand, he could see concern deep in the ocean of John Paul's eyes and he wanted to take that away, if he could.

"It's just… what you said this afternoon…"

"What I said?"

"Yeah I… I need to know Craig… I need you to tell me…"

"What?" Craig swallowed nervously; did John Paul want an answer to that question after all? If he did then Craig wasn't sure he could give it, he still didn't know it.

"The Fox," John Paul replied, "I need to know who the Fox is… I have to stop him Craig, I have to."

"I know," Craig said quietly. "I know you do."

"So you'll tell me? Everything about him?"

"Everything I know…"

For years Craig had been aware, but unconcerned, that he lived his life on the wrong side of the law. For years the knowledge of other peoples crimes had been of little interest to him unless it impacted on his own plans.

Taking a deep breath Craig held tightly onto John Paul's steadying hand as he prepared to take the first step towards 'doing the right thing.'

* * *

The graves were battered. Winter had been cruel and all of the trees were barren. Heavy rain had allowed the unkempt grass, interspersed with a scattering of weeds, to grow above ankle height. Through the rustling brown and green grass Craig watched a squirrel out searching food, long after it was due to start its winter sleep.

Finding his mother's grave Craig knelt down, his knees feeling the cold of the wet mud, which made him shiver as he traced his hand over the traditional memorial. One of the first things the Ocelot had stolen for was his mother's headstone.

Whenever he came to the mournful site in the downtown Jewish cemetery Craig's mind would wander back to his mother's final days. She had borrowed money for Hanukkah just to feed them, boil in the bag pasta. She died two days after, leaving him alone and penniless. Despite the half hearted attempts of the authorities Craig's father had never been traced.

Craig became the Ocelot that night in his heart. Until then he had been nothing more than a petty thief, taking only what he needed. After the death of his mother the Ocelot learned to take whatever he wanted and he had lived that life ever since.

He knew that most of the items he stole were things that his mother would have liked. But face to face with her mortality he knew his mother would never have wanted the life of the Ocelot to triumph at the expense of Craig's happiness; because Craig had found the one jewel his mother never had. True love.

With shaking hands Craig cleared away the weeds from his mother's grave, knowing that the Ocelot had been interred in the graveyard of the past.

"I thought it was time to come and tell you something," Craig said quietly to the headstone, "I've met someone… he's a photographer. Yes mum, he's a he… John Paul… no he's definitely a he!" Craig laughed softly to himself; it was as if he could hear his mother's response. No matter how many years he had lived without her he could still feel the woman's presence in his life, nurturing and guiding him and, no doubt, disapproving of the choices he made. Craig didn't doubt that, had she been alive, Frankie Dean would not have been thrilled with his choice of partner but likewise he knew that, in time, the love he shared with John Paul would have won her over. Frankie had only ever wanted her son's happiness and in John Paul McQueen the brown-eyed boy that she doted on had found it.

"He's amazing mum," Craig continued with a wistful smile dancing over his lips, "He's just so… so gorgeous… and not only on the outside, you know? He's a good man… a really good man… I've done some bad things over the years… yes mum you know I have… and he knows that, knows all about it but he still loves me only… only he can't love the Ocelot, I know he can't… and, well, if I have to choose… there isn't really a choice is there?" Craig sighed sadly "I wish you could have met him mum… I miss you."

Reaching into his pocket Craig pulled out a glistening stone the size and shape of a large pebble and placed it on the top of his mother's grave. The large opal shone in the setting sun and Craig smiled to himself, it might have been a Jewish custom to place stones on a grave instead of flowers but it was unlikely that they were usually quite so valuable.

Getting to his feet Craig brushed the worst of the mud from his knees and rested one hand on the headstone for a few seconds.

"I'll see you soon," he said quietly, "I love you mum."

As he turned and walked from the cemetery a small black and white bird swooped past him, circling a few of the headstones before diving down to snatch at small silver trinket that had been left some days earlier, flying off with its prize carefully gripped in its beak.

* * *

"Yes."

"What?"

"I said yes," Craig repeated as he pushed John Paul backwards into his apartment, pinning him against one wall and kissing him hard.

Craig had almost ran from the cemetery to John Paul's apartment but it wasn't the exertion that was making his heart beat so hard now, he felt elated in a way he had never experienced before. Not even the most successful burglary had given him such a high.

"Yes what?" John Paul panted once Craig stepped back to close the door.

"Yes," Craig repeated with a wide smile, "Yes I'll give up the Ocelot for you."

* * *

It had snowed for hours before the storm broke. Now, the soft white blanket was dissolved into a thick, curdling slush.

Hollyoaks City was a dead city according to many. Tourism was next to nothing. Even the 'urban legend' of the Knight, protector of the city, didn't bring anyone there unless they had to be. It was a barren city of contradictions – extreme poverty and unadulterated wealth, which were represented by the slums one side of the city and the high rising penthouses and affluent brownstones on the other.

The sky was inky black, winter enjoying one final push before it had to concede to the approaching spring. The winds howled through the heavens, rattling through the crammed together buildings like the mournful, weeping cries of ghosts long forgotten but still not at rest. The rain poured down, angrily, with juggernaut strength splattering on the many flat roofs. Looking out at the horizon the downpour obscured the picture, hazing it out like the angry roaming dark grey clouds, which tumbled across the heavens.

Originally an overspill, the dense populous resulted in a collection of neo-gothic and art nouveau buildings that rose in close proximity to each other, eventually creating rooftops that could be used with ease like surreal pathways now looking more and more out of place with the modern builds. At the centre of the city the large gothic church rose, almost angrily, adorned with gargoyles, which seemed to climb up the black, cold steeple like nightmarish ghouls from dark tales. Many of its once beautiful stained glass windows had been broken, and never repaired. It had once been known as Christ the Saviour, but within five years of the city's founding it had been rededicated to the patron of lost souls.

The sound of helicopters approaching broke the monopoly of the wind as attention focused on a former warehouse near the East End of Hollyoaks City. The motionless body of the Knight, knocked unconscious, lay still at the centre of the ten storey flat roof, while at the end a figure in black clutched tightly to the arm of a dangling man – the Fox.

"Drop the diamond," came Craig's voice. His mask had been partly shattered, destroying the voice distorter that disguised his manly, but deliciously velvet voice. His arm muscles bulged under the figure hugging black costume, his strength being pushed to the limit as he desperately tried to pull back the man who had – less than a minute ago – pulled a gun to him and almost killed him.

The dance of the 'red death' was said to be dangerous, and, as he winced, Craig wondered if dangerous would become deadly.

* * *

Craig Dean sat straddled over his lover's legs, the photographer John Paul McQueen. His hand tightly clutching the blonde's hardened erection, Craig's dark brown eyes shimmered with a mixture of passion and unbridled lust but most of all with love. Few would ever guess that these two men were the Knight and the Ocelot, one a 'hero' and the other a 'villain'. Few would guess, looking at them, only days before the realisation of their other selves had almost torn them apart.

The model intensified his grip on the photographer's firm member, squeezing it before stroking it slowly. From the tiny piss slit a rivulet of crystalline, warm and sticky, trail of pre come leaked out running down his olive fingers.

"Go on fuck me," groaned John Paul, his long fingers clawing at Craig's overpriced bed sheets.

"I've not finished playing and it's my birthday," smiled the brunette.

"Your birthday is June," sighed John Paul, "no please Craig, FUCK ME!"

"Everyday feels like my birthday," the model whispered as he moved up his lover's body and fed his tongue into the photographer's mouth, "since I met you, and no I wont until I've had my fun…"

Pushing himself back down the bed, hungrily, Craig swallowed John Paul's dick, taking in the girth as effortlessly as he could. John Paul began to slowly hump his hips, forcing his member further and further inside the model's throat until he was sure he was touching the soft tissues. Craig gagged, and yet made no attempt to free himself as John Paul gripped his head and held him in place. Instead, the model's nostrils flared, his throat wrenching in a mixture of both pleasure and pain before finally bulling back, a torrent of saliva oozing down the blonde's dick.

Without pausing for breath, his molten chocolate eyes fixed on John Paul's, Craig busied himself sucking on his boyfriend's balls, carefully giving them a good washing.

"Come on, fuck me," pleaded the blonde, his legs kicking in desperation.

"Uh-huh," smiled the model as he Craig took hold of his lover's dick and swallowed it. Slowly, he worked it down his throat, inch by inch, until his nose was in John Paul's blonde pubes. Craig's head began to bob backwards, and forwards, and each time he came back he took John Paul's dick fully into his welcomingly wet mouth. John Paul held on to his boyfriend's head, just running his fingers through his hair, slowly moving his hips back and forth, his groans reverberating through his throat.

Finally the photographer bucket, his head falling backwards as his body went ridged. The crashing sensation of orgasm erupted through his pale body, his pelvis thrusting upwards into the wet mouth of the olive skinned man who gratefully received the torrent of his load. Craig intensified his lips, hollowing his cheeks so that a vacuum effect was created savouring each new splurt, which poured forth from his lover.

Pulling back, a small pearly white droplet of come clung to the model's bottom lip which he slowly, teasingly, licked with his tongue as John Paul watched opened mouthed, and panting.

"Now, I will fuck you Mr. McQueen," smiled the model.

Craig's eyes almost instinctively darkened as his boyfriend's 'phone suddenly buzzed, loudly beside the bed. Tensing immediately, John Paul's eyes went backwards and forwards between the 'phone and his boyfriend, the heat of a few seconds ago replaced with sadness in his azure eyes.

"Leave it," sighed Craig.

"Craig," John Paul whispered leaning forwards and stroking his lover's face, "you know I can't…"

It wasn't just any phone that was ringing, not the phone of John Paul McQueen the photographer but rather John Paul's second mobile, the one he could never ignore. The one that would always guide The Knight to where his presence was most needed.

It was a bank robbery – someone was being held hostage. Despite the gnawing annoyance and sadness Craig knew his lover would have to go.

For the first time, Craig came face to face with the realisation of what life would be like living with the 'Knight'. John Paul was gone within five minutes – within five minutes the gentle blonde had vanished and the mincing Knight had taken his place. The offer to go with him was quickly rebuffed – 'maybe someday', was all John Paul could whisper as the tall, lightly muscled man removed his armour from a suitcase and quickly became something else. John Paul had originally felt strange moving a 'spare' outfit into his lover's, but he spent so much time there and he rarely had time to rush back to his own flat, so in the end it was the only sensible solution.

Craig had watched John Paul disappear, his hand resting against the wall – no clothes clinging to his Adonis like frame. Turning, Craig looked at the mirror – for all his beauty he was not a vain man, but he knew he was an amazing site. His dark brown hair was cut short, a fringe pushed forward into a few locks which fell to just above his eyebrows. His legs were feathered with dark brown hair, which accented his muscles and his stomach was taught, washboard with a narrow waist and a double ringed bellybutton. With a sad smile he had to admit not even beauty could keep John Paul from the dark path of the Knight, and he had to accept that.

Mrrow….

Malaysia rushed through her owner's legs, quickly followed by her brother who Craig quickly scooped up to stop him tormenting his sister.

"Nikolai," Craig hissed, fixing his brown eyes with the felines sadly. Nikolai's tail, a deep orange that bordered on gold, darted, from side to side as he meowed at his owner, annoyed his advance on his sister had been stopped. The cat's emerald eyes narrowed, making the patch of black fur on his face more pronounced.

Putting the cat back down, Craig walked over to the mirror and titled his head to the side. "Should have fucked him that hard he couldn't move!"

* * *

The Ocelot landed on the rooftop silently. It was a choice between a shower and watch late night television, or get out and do something. Craig didn't fancy television – his muscles itched for the heady exercise of sprinting from rooftop to rooftop. He wasn't domesticated, and he loved a distraction. He loved the feeling of running through the concrete jungle, with just the light of the moon to illuminate the shadowy pathways – and as long as he didn't take anything… well, where was the harm?

Plus, it would give him the chance to offload something: the Red Death. The sparkling jewel had lurked at the back of his mind for days, just sat on the floor in his secret room stuffed full of trophies. Unlike the original Rubens, Munchs or Romanov emeralds and anything else stashed in that room Craig couldn't 'forget' it was there. It lurked, like a dark cruel thought, teasing him. The legend said it had turned red with the blood of its owners, and although not a superstitious man, Craig couldn't help but wonder if its dark history was just too problematic. Plus, it wasn't something he could one day sell on the black market. It was too – troublesome.

So, instead, he'd put it back where he got it.

"I thought you were more original," whispered a sickly, icy cruel voice, "Craig Dean?"

Craig spun round. He had never been called his real name at night, not out like this. Ringing in his ears it sounded like a stranger's name, despite the cold sweat, which ran down his muscled back and his heart beating angrily in his chest.

"Who?" the Ocelot whispered.

He didn't need to ask. He knew who the man stood in front of him was.

Warren Fox – the Fox – was tall and muscled. His shoulders were broad, and his arms arrogantly folded, his narrow eyes visible in a small slit of his dark grey mask. Unlike Craig's lithe frame, Warren's looked heavy – his wide stretched shoulders budging with strength. His out fit was designed to carry, his thighs weighted by clinging pockets full of arsonary. Warren didn't just steal, he killed to order – in truth Warren would do whatever he was paid for.

"I've been following you. You have an interesting bed mate… Sorry, you must be wondering how I know. You see, some faces are too pretty to forget, Craig – especially to people you double crossed," laughed Warren.

He had searched the city for the last forty eight hours, hounding anyone and everyone he could for the Ocelot's identity. The thief wasn't popular – Craig wasn't averse to taking both commission and prize, and unfortunately you couldn't cover every track and an art dealer just happened to remember the face of the man who had sold him a fake Dali for fifteen million, the man had looked strangely like the model Craig Dean, although of course it couldn't have been him. "I didn't think you'd return to the scene of a crime though – perhaps you are just an old cliché after all."

"Just returning what I took," laughed Craig.

Craig knew he had to act quickly. He moved with the fluidity of water; his strong body rippling underneath his black armour, which clung tightly to his frame. With effortless ease the Ocelot threw himself forward, his body moving in a forward back flip closing the gap between him and Warren with such speed he was able to get the upper hand. Falling to the ground, he cut Warren up with his legs bringing the older man down.

But Warren was quick. Craig heard the word 'bastard' after he felt Warren's arm crash against the back of his head, sending him rolling to the side. The pain was surprising – and yet Craig knew he had to recover as quickly as possible, rising to his feet and launching a round house kick at his attacker. Warren fell backwards, just enough to allow Craig to run, leaping from the rooftop onto another.

He needed to get Warren away – he needed space. Space to launch his attack. The crowded rooftops of the upper parts of town weren't enough. Warren was good – and Craig had to admit, maybe too good.

"Run, Craig," Warren laughed as he raised himself up and began to follow the young model. "Don't you know, I always WIN!"

---

The sign above the building said, 'Yoshi's Sushi Bar'. At the centre of the roof a dome glass structure showed the tables below, allowing diners a view of the starless sky. The sound of their merriment could be heard, but that was the last thing Craig had any interest for.

It wasn't working. Warren came out of nowhere – knocking Craig backwards.

The model had tried to lure his pursuer to the docks at the East End of Hollyoaks City. It hadn't worked. He got stupid and complacent and Warren used it to his advantage, creeping up when Craig was starting to feel too confident.

Craig blocked Warren's punch. The model was a good boxer and kick boxer – two sports he had always loved. But Warren was equally good, and right hand sent Craig backwards as it collided with his chin. Stunned, Warren used the opportunity to return Craig's earlier kick, launching his right leg at the brunette's stomach sending the model back to the ground.

Through the pain and the metallic taste filling his mouth, the Ocelot gritted his teeth and lunged himself at his attacker.

The shrill of the diners echoed through the two men's ears as they fell through the frosted glass, spinning down the small distance. The smell of raw fish filled Craig's nostrils as he landed on Warren's stomach.

Warren's side hurt. The Fox was sure he had at least bruised a rib, but that was nothing compared to the bullet he would receive if he didn't get that diamond. He looked up through his hazel green eyes at the man above him, and took his opportunity.

His fist collided with Craig's face at a speed that sent Craig flying backwards, to the ground.

"This is getting boring," growled Warren.

His bones cracked slightly as he stood up, brushing off a mixture of squid and mashed up rice from his shoulders. He stepped forward, smiling beneath his mask at the still body of the 'world's greatest thief'. He had always hated the Ocelot. The sneaky little bastard had outsmarted him so many times – he would enjoy killing him.

"I'll make it more interesting then," Craig hissed as he launched a surprise kick directly into Warren's abdomen, sending the Fox backwards. It had taken all the Ocelot's patience to lie still, waiting for the right moment, for Warren to be in the right place. He had succeeded.

Warren watched in horror, and surprise. With Olympic skills, the Ocelot leapt backwards, his arms reaching upwards, pulling chest towards the sky, lifting his knees upward and swinging his body backwards into an impressive vault back flip. Craig's arms reached the suspended lights, high enough to swing him self back out onto the roof and out of the restaurant.

"OCELOT!" the sound of the Fox's voice echoed through Craig's ears as he rushed back out through the cold air of the night sky.

With trembling hands Craig ran his fingers down his stomach, pausing at the small pouch containing the blood coloured gem. He shook his head from side to side, desperate to dislodge the thought that his blood might soon stain the diamond and add to its colour.

---

The Knight crouched down, gripping the corner of small ledge. His outfit was cold, sterile and menacing. It was dark, midnight blue. The same shade the night reaches when the moon's luminance, secretive light fades away, threatening the heavens with oncoming blackness. Silver armour clung to his legs, arms and chest, crowned with a full mask. It was this razor sharp armour that had earned him his name – the gentle curves running in an almost medieval point – the Knight.

Through the small gap of his mask, John Paul's azure eyes narrowed as he watched the young bank worker lured to the safety of an ambulance to treat her for shock. Inside the bank, the two men who had held her hostage now lay unconscious. John Paul looked down at his thigh, a small gap in his armour was torn open – a bullet had grazed him. He used to laugh it off as a hazard of the job – it was the only way to deal with things at times. But this time there was something different.

The sound of the gun had scared him. It was death that had run through his mind. It was Craig's eyes. He had someone at home now. Someone he wanted to be with and be safe for.

Was it time for the Knight to retire?

'Ocelot'.

John Paul leapt at the sound. He moved across the shadows of the fire escape, silently.

"The docks. Ocelot and another figure – looks the 'Fox'." The police officer repeated twice into his 'phone. "All armed police there now."

"Craig?"

Without thinking the Knight was gone. The police officer freezing as a shadow quickly cloaked him when something moved above.

----

The scaffolding collapsed, noisily. Metal fell around the Ocelot as he plummeted down from the roof, landing on a small wooden structure erected on the roof of the abandoned factory. Building work had been abandoned some time ago, but the wooden 'office' and scaffolding had been left unattended – forgotten like most the buildings around the docks.

The smell of smoke and fire mixed in with salty stench of the sea. The sky was dark, muddled black. The winds howled through the heavens, rattling through the crammed together buildings like the mournful, weeping cries of ghosts long forgotten but still not at rest. The rain poured down, angrily, with juggernaut strength splattering on the many flat roofs. Looking out at the horizon the downpour obscured the picture, hazing it out like the angry roaming dark grey clouds, which tumbled across the heavens.

Craig coughed and retched at the stench of pigeon urine and faeces. Warren had thrown some sort of explosive device, shattering a scaffold, which had been erected over the building, just as Craig was balanced on it. The model winced at the pain, watching the startled pigeons fly overhead him.

The corner of his mask had been blown way, the voice distorter broken. Turning to his side the model spat out his blood coloured saliva, a back tooth falling out. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his chest made him dizzy.

Warren rested his foot gently on Craig's chest before leaning down and pulling the red death from Craig's small pouch.

Holding it in the light of the night sky, the gem sparkled. Craig winced slightly as he watched how the dancing lights that seemed to shimmer and leap in the diamond's heart, as if it was nothing but sparkling liquid – blood.

"Legend has it that it wasn't always red, but that the curse says its owner's own blood stains it," Warren laughed. "Good job I don't plan and keeping it."

Warren didn't see the Knight come from nowhere. The red death diamond fell from his hands, rolling along the roof as the Knight wrestled him to the ground.

John Paul's fist collided, angrily, harshly, and ferociously into Warren's face once… twice… three… times. He paused, his chest rising and falling as Warren placing his hands up, beginning for mercy. John Paul realised he had been played only seconds before Warren lashed back at him, before bringing his knee up into the Knight's groin.

Scrambling around, Warren gripped a large scaffolding pole. John Paul screamed as the cold metal hit him at the back of the head, before falling still to the ground.

"The Knight and the Ocelot," laughed Warren as he limped across the roof, pausing to pick up the diamond.

"Aarrgh," Craig didn't know where his strength came from – for the rest of his life he would wonder.

His fist collided with Warren's face, the Fox powerless to do anything. The diamond twinkled in his dominant hand as he tried to block Craig's attack. With his free hand, Warren removed a small gun, clumsily holding it in an unnatural hand.

Rushing forward the Ocelot took no chances, dodging the first bullet. His hips rotated with fluid ease, his abdominal muscles supporting him tightly, and the weight of his body becoming equally balanced, steadied. The ball of his foot was raised, allowing his dominant leg to rise, as his body pivoted on the spot, his arms flexed in both support and shield, showing the gentle, perfect strength of his muscles, as his foot made contact with his adversary, knocking the gun from Warren's hand and sending him backwards.

Warren slipped back, his foot sliding against the slushy snow. The red death diamond leapt from his hands, the Fox desperately clawing at the air to try and catch it… finally succeeding as he fell backwards, tumbling over the edge of the building.

"No," Craig's voice echoed as he launched forward, gripping Warren's wrist as the Fox tried to grip the icy cold, slippery wet ledge.

The sound of helicopters approaching broke the monopoly of the wind as attention focused on a former warehouse near the East End of Hollyoaks City. The motionless body of the Knight, knocked unconscious, lay still at the centre of the ten storey flat roof.

"Drop the diamond," Craig hissed loudly to the man below. His arm muscles bulged under the figure hugging black costume, his strength being pushed to the limit as he desperately tried to pull back the man who had tried to kill him. Craig might like to steal things, but he wasn't a killer. He would not have the Fox's blood on his hands. "For god's sake Warren, I can't hold you…"

"Don't let me fall," Warren pleaded.

"Drop the diamond – give me your other hand!" Craig screamed, as Warren clutched the diamond refusing to raise it. Instead, Warren struggled to stuff the diamond into his trousers, pulling his weight unevenly, his and Craig's grip loosening.

"Drop the diamond…"

"I'll lose it," Warren barked. "Shit…"

"You'll die…" Craig pleaded.

"I will if I don't…"

"Craig…" John Paul growled as his lover screamed.

John Paul dizzily launched himself to the side room, reaching out just as Warren made a final deadly mistake. Shifting his weight too much caused his hand to loosen its grip on Craig's, neither Craig nor John Paul where able to reach him as he fell the ten storeys to the ground. There was nothing they could do. Gravity claimed the Fox, the red death finally falling free as Warren accelerated to his fate.

Warren Fox's body lay half up right on the ground. His chest had opened, his pelvis shattering into a distorted, macabre and gruesome mess. It looked like his legs sprouted directly from his abdomen, the bones shattered and his head tilted to the side. His one foot was broken and turned round, while the other seemed to have literally flattened out. Around him, a pool of his blood melded darkly with the wet pavement just as the rain eased off to be replaced by the sprinkling, soft snow.

"Oh my… God…" came the southern voice of an officer, he turned his eyes away as his dinner returned to his mouth, violently pouring fourth into a drain.

Coming like tears from the sky, the snow quickly picked up pace. It's white flakes fell like costumed dancers, seemingly moving side to side in symmetry. There was no sound as they pirouetted their way to the dark, cold floor, turning red around the broken body...

Moving forward, an officer placed a hand over his mouth as he reached down and picked up the glistening gem that had landed, in tact, only five feet from Warren.

"I… I… didn't…."

"I know," John Paul whispered raising his mask and placing his lips to his lover's bruised and swollen mouth. "It's not your fault – he did that…"

"I was returning it – I never… I never… I just wanted to give it back," Craig whispered as John Paul quickly pulled him back into the shadows.

"Craig it doesn't matter; I just want to get you home…"

"I'm not a killer," Craig pleaded.

"I know," John Paul smiled removing his mask in the sanctuary of the shadows and smiling at his lover. "I know – because I love you."


	8. Chapter 8

"Craig… you're sure you're not hurt?"

John Paul had been pacing the living room of Craig's apartment ever since they returned. The events of the night had shaken them both but nothing more so than the haunted look that John Paul could see in his lover's eyes.

As soon as he had returned home Craig had stripped himself of The Ocelot's clothing and retreated into the warmth and comfort of a midnight blue towelling robe, which he held tightly around himself as he sat on the sofa, his knees clutched to his chest and his gaze fixed on an unknown point before him. He felt drained, exhausted but at the same time afraid to sleep. Closing his eyes, even for a moment, only served to conjure up the images that he wanted desperately to forget, the look of fear etched across Warren's face as he began to fall and the crimson pool of blood that stained the brilliant white snow where the man's broken body had come to rest.

Nikolai and Malaysia, somehow sensing the man's distressed state, had refrained from their usual boisterous greeting upon his return and were now sat either side of him, pressed up to his body as close as they could manage in silent support of the man who had always cared for them.

"I'm fine," Craig whispered in response to John Paul's question.

Running his hands through his dark blonde hair John Paul sighed, he might be The Knight and the self proclaimed protector of Hollyoaks City but at that moment he was at a loss, none of the skills he had honed over the years had prepared him for this. Saving people was what he did but he didn't know how to help the one person he wanted to save more than any other.

The Knight was a hero, but John Paul McQueen was just a photographer, what could such a man possibly do?

Hidden behind the armour of The Knight John Paul could often convince himself that he was invincible but dressed in the t-shirt and jeans of an ordinary man he knew just how vulnerable he was. As he moved he could feel the small abrasion on his thigh where only hours earlier a bullet had grazed him. What if it hadn't only been a graze… what if… John Paul shook his head; he couldn't afford to think like that.

"Craig," John Paul said softly as he crouched down before his lover and took the man's hands in his own, noticing how chilled they felt. "Look at me… please Craig…"

"I tried to save him," Craig said, his gaze still focussed at a point where no one else could ever see.

"I know you did…"

"He wouldn't let me…"

"I know…"

"That's two now." Pulling his hands back from John Paul's hold Craig rubbed at his eyes wearily.

"Two?" John Paul asked with an uncertain frown.

"Clare Devine and now Warren Fox," Craig replied in a quiet emotionless voice, "Two people who have died because of me."

"This was not your fault," John Paul said sternly, gripping Craig's face and forcing the man to look at him. "None of this was your fault…"

"No?"

"No."

"But if I hadn't taken the diamond… Warren wouldn't have killed Clare… he wouldn't have had to fight me for it… he wouldn't have fallen…"

John Paul's hold of his boyfriends face softened as he stroked the lightly stubbled cheeks gently. "It's not your fault," John Paul repeated quietly, "YOU didn't kill Clare and YOU didn't push Warren off that roof… you didn't cause any of this Craig… you have to believe that… It's not your fault that Clare got involved with that maniac and it's not your fault that he was prepared to risk his life over a diamond tonight…"

"But if I hadn't…"

"But if you hadn't… but if he hadn't… but if the museum hadn't put the bloody thing on display… you can't think like that Craig… you're not responsible…"

Closing his eyes Craig leant forward and accepted the warm embrace of John Paul's arms, breathing in deeply the comforting scent of the man he had never expected to fall so deeply in love with.

Somewhere deep inside him Craig's logic told him that John Paul's words were true but he knew that it would be a while before he could really believe it and until then he had someone else's strength to rely on.

John Paul stroked his lover's back as he held the man tightly. It had been shocking and disturbing to see Warren fall to his death like that, but it could have easily been so different. The smallest twist of fate could have sent Craig's body plummeting to the earth to be broken on the unforgiving ground, just like it could have sent the bullet into John Paul's chest rather than just skimming across his thigh. The danger of his life had never worried John Paul before, but now it terrified him. There were just too many what if's.

"Oh Craig why were you out like that tonight?" John Paul asked with a sigh.

"I told you," Craig said, pulling back slightly from his lover's embrace so that he could look into the brilliance of the man's blue eyes, "I was taking it back, you said I should return the things I'd stolen… you do believe me don't you?"

"Of course I do," John Paul assured him, "But why did you do it? You didn't have to go out like that… I could have done it for you Craig… I can do it…"

Craig didn't answer. What could he say? He didn't think that John Paul "The Knight" would understand the need he felt to be out there, prowling the midnight world. John Paul was a hero, a protector, but what did that make Craig?

As if on cue John Paul's, or rather The Knight's, mobile phone began to ring. John Paul's first instinct was to simply ignore it, but at the first note of its familiar tune Craig had pulled back further, he knew the importance of that phone and the calls it received, just like he knew that his lover would have to leave again.

"Hello," John Paul said as he answered the ringing phone. Craig's eyes were fixed on his boyfriends face as he listened to one half of the conversation and tried to glean what information he could from it.

"No I…" John Paul began; his intention to refuse whatever it was that needed his attention. "No but… that's not how… Yes I was… Look I think… Yeah, yeah usual place… give me ten minutes."

John Paul turned his apologetic eyes to Craig and bit his lip. "Sorry I have to…" he began.

"I know," Craig replied with a half smile.

"I tried not to…"

"I know…"

"It's just…"

"Go John Paul," Craig said as Nikolai saw an opportunity to climb onto the man's lap and begin kneading at his thighs with his sharp claws. "Go… and then hurry back yeah?"

"I'll be as fast as I can… there's just something that needs sorting out…"

Pausing at the door for a moment John Paul looked back as his boyfriend and smiled. Both Nikolai and Malaysia were vying for Craig's attention, nuzzling into the man's face and purring deeply as he laughed softly and stroked the warm silky fur along the lengths of their backs to the tips of their tails.

Craig was going to be alright, John Paul was certain of that. He would make certain.

* * *

The café was located in a dark side street in the most run down slum area of the city. The café's window was opaque with a build up of countless years of grime, the glass fogged with condensation as it provided a barrier between the chill of the night and the heat of the buildings interior.

The inside of the café fared no better than its exterior. The whitewashed walls were sticky to the touch as a coating of grease congealed with nicotine, despite the city's no smoking policy, but then allowing its diners to smoke was the least of the café's health and safety violations but nobody seemed to care. It was many years since a health inspector had ventured into that part of the city and the businesses were allowed to operate as they saw fit. As long as no one actually died on the premises there was no need for concern.

In the early hours of the morning the café's customers consisted of a spattering of taxi drivers and a couple of hollow eyed men who held onto their dirty mugs as if they contained something more valuable than the murky tea, the track marks on their arms explaining their presence at such an hour as they took in the warmth of the café while they waited for their dealer.

The man seated towards the back of the café was a stark contrast to the rest of the customers, not that any of them looked at him long enough to notice. It was not the sort of place to make eye contact with a stranger.

He was dressed simply in a jeans and jacket combination, a bright white shirt just visible through the opening at the jacket's neck. His black skin, which usually shone with health, looked dulled in the strip lighting and the lateness of the hour had left dark circles under his eyes. He had ordered two teas as soon as he entered the café but both mugs remained untouched on the grimy table as he waited for the arrival of his companion. Not that either of them ever drank the beverages that the establishment offered.

The blonde haired man strode purposefully towards the back of the café and took a seat opposite the black man, nodding a greeting as he rested his hands on the surface of the table and instantly regretted it. He looked just as out of place as the man he had come to meet and, if anyone had taken notice of them they might have wondered just why a top photographer and off-duty policeman might be meeting in such a way. But no one ever took notice and that was exactly why they chose such a location. Discretion was guaranteed.

"Calvin," John Paul said with a smile.

"Alright John Paul?" Calvin replied.

Calvin Valentine had always wanted to be in the police, ever since childhood, and his dream had been realised when he applied and was accepted into Hollyoaks City's police force at the age of seventeen. Working hard he had risen steadily thorough the ranks and gained the respect of his colleagues along the way.

But it wasn't Calvin's profession that had first brought him to John Paul's attention.

John Paul had just been starting out as a photographer when his sister had introduced him to her new boyfriend and John Paul had taken an instant liking to the man. It was only a matter of months before John Paul was taking photographs at the couples wedding.

John Paul had never seen Carmel happier and he knew that that was due to Calvin. A bond of friendship had grown between the men and it was a friendship that they had both needed for support when, a few days before Calvin and Carmel's third wedding anniversary the beautiful blonde woman had been killed.

Carmel had been in the bank to withdraw enough money to buy her husband the gold chain she had her heart set on for his anniversary present. Ironically Carmel had always preferred to withdraw her cash over the counter of the bank as it felt more secure than using the outside ATM.

The gunmen had stormed the bank in a terrifying blaze of noise and fear, bank tellers and customers alike falling to the floor as the men screamed their instructions, one of the tellers managing to hit the alarm button before a bullet to their shoulder put an end to their dreams of heroics.

Lying face down on the dusty floor Carmel Valentine had silently prayed for no one else to get hurt but one of the robbers had been inexperienced and afraid, the sudden sound of police sirens startling him so much that he fired his gun without thinking, a reflex action which ended the life of John Paul's older sister and which ultimately gave birth to The Knight.

The gunmen had been jailed for the attempted robbery but a legal loophole had allowed Carmel's killer to serve only a minimum sentence for an "accidental" killing.

From that day John Paul McQueen had vowed to do what he could to fight the injustices of the city that had taken his sister and to protect its innocent citizens where he could.

At first Calvin had tried to talk John Paul out of his plans, fearing for the man's safety, but it wasn't long before he realised just how much good John Paul could do and he became the only man to know the true identity of The Knight.

"We got The Fox tonight," Calvin said quietly so that none of the café's customers could overhear.

"Right," John Paul replied.

"He's dead…"

"OK…"

"And we need your help to catch his killer…"

"Killer?"

"Yeah," Calvin continued, "He was seen fighting with The Ocelot just before he became a broken mess on the sidewalk… The Ocelot obviously threw him from the roof… The Fox had the Red Death Diamond on him… they must have been fighting over that… That's two he's killed now John Paul… we've got to stop him!"

"He didn't do it," John Paul said calmly.

Calvin raised his eyebrows curiously. "And you know this how?"

"Cause I was there…"

"You were there? And you didn't make yourself known… you didn't tell the officers on the scene what happened?"

"It's… complicated," John Paul said.

"I think you'd better tell me what you know," Calvin said, picking up his mug of tea without thinking and almost placing it to his lips before he noticed the think ring of scum on the liquids surface.

"OK," John Paul replied with a deep breath. "You see the thing is… The Ocelot didn't kill anyone, it's not his style… not what he's about… what happened was…."

The two mugs of tea had grown cold as John Paul talked, Calvin listening to his brother-in-laws words with amazement, only interrupting him occasionally when he needed clarification of the information that John Paul shared with him.

"And you're certain that The Ocelot isn't a killer?" Calvin asked with a bemused shake of his head. Everything that John Paul told him sounded perfectly plausible and he had no reason to doubt the man's words, but it turned his whole investigation on its head.

"I know he isn't Calvin, he's no more a killer than I am."

"Oh my god," Calvin said with a laugh as an unexpected realisation dawned on him. "You know who he is don't you?"

"I can't answer that…"

"You do! John Paul he's a wanted man… killer or not you know the crimes he's wanted for… you have to tell me who he is… where I can find him…"

"I can't… I'm sorry Calvin but this is one thing I can't help you with."

"But why not… you know what he… John Paul are you and he… are you in a relationship with this man?"

"I've gotta go Calvin." John Paul smiled as he got to his feet; they both knew that his refusal to answer was as good as confirming Calvin's suspicions. "Redirect your enquiries and you will find out that The Fox is the real killer…"

"We will catch The Ocelot John Paul… every criminal slips up eventually and I can't just let him go because of you…"

"I'm not asking you to… but you won't catch him because there won't be anything to catch him doing anymore… The Ocelot had retired… You've got my word on that."

"I hope you're right… for your sake… Take care John Paul."

"See you later," John Paul said as he shook Calvin's hand firmly before turning to leave without a backwards glance.

As he stepped into the street John Paul could see the first rays of morning starting to pierce the dark skies and he felt a sudden surge of optimism as he made his way back to Craig's apartment. It didn't just feel like a new day, it felt like a new beginning.

* * *

Calvin Valentine returned to his car with a satisfied smile. The few hours sleep he managed to get after his meeting with John Paul hadn't refreshed him as much as he had hoped but there was a renewed spring in his step after interviewing the young woman who had been Clare Devine's secretary until her untimely death.

When Carol Bailey had answered the door to the policeman she had felt the usual rush of fear that she had suffered ever since the murder of her employer. The eyes of the killer haunted her nights and she lived with the constant fear that he would come for her, that he would decide she needed silencing for good.

The sight of Warren Fox's face, even on a photograph, had thrown the young woman into blind panic as she denied over and over again that she had ever seen him before. The moment that Calvin had informed her of Warren's death Carol collapsed into floods of relieved tears and, when she finally composed herself, she was able to identify the man as the killer of Clare Devine. Calvin knew that he could have arrested the young secretary for deliberately lying in previous interviews but he saw point in going down that route, there would be nothing gained by punishing the woman who had acted out of understandable fear. Calvin had a positive ID of the murderer and that was enough for him.

He was relieved that John Paul had been right, the thought that his friend might be involved with a killer had worried him, but whatever John Paul might believe he was still dating a criminal, a thief, and if he got the chance to arrest The Ocelot Calvin would not hesitate in taking it.

A part of Calvin loved the idea of being the man who brought down The Ocelot but another part of him hoped that John Paul was right and The Ocelot was to be resigned to Hollyoaks City's history, he had no real desire to be opposite sides to his brother-in-law and he prayed that that situation never arose.

* * *

Craig yawned slightly, stretching out his supple body along the full length of the sofa and letting out a small contented sigh. A couple of weeks had passed since he had watched Warren Fox fall to his death and Craig had slowly come to accept that he was not responsible for the events of that night, and every day the memories became a little fainter and easier to live with.

A couple of days after that fateful night Craig had awoken to the newspaper headlines declaring Warren Fox the killer of the fashion house owner Clare Devine and he had felt greatly relieved. Craig knew that to some degree The Ocelot would always be a wanted man, he had committed far too many crimes to be easily forgotten, but murder was not one of them and he was grateful that the truth of Clare's death had been unveiled.

From the corner of his eye Craig spotted movement and turned his head to watch as Nikolai begin to slowly stalk along the floor. The cat's body was low to the carpet as he padded on silent feet towards his prey. Nikolai's eyes seemed to glow darkly with concentration as his svelte feline form moved gracefully onwards, his goal in sight and he was ready to attack.

At the last second Malaysia turned her head and hissed, causing her brother to jump up and back with a startled mew as his sister's tail thrashed wildly from side to side with annoyance. Craig laughed as he watched Nikolai walk away, his head and tail pointing up to the ceiling as if to suggest he hadn't been trying to pounce on her in the first place. Malaysia's eyes followed her brother for a moment until, deciding he was out of the way, she once again curled her paws underneath her chest and snuggled back into the cushion that had been placed before the fireplace, purring happily as she resumed her nap.

Rubbing at his eyes Craig looked at the time and was surprised to discover that he had lost two hours, he hadn't intended to fall asleep but had planned to merely 'rest his eyes' for a few minutes.

Having nothing to do felt strange to Craig, liberating but constricting at the same time. He had no modelling assignments for the rest of the month and, each evening as the darkness of the night took control of the skies he had to remind himself that The Ocelot had retired, that part of his life was over now. But his new life did have many compensations. The biggest compensation being in the shape of a handsome, if not beautiful, blonde photographer, a photographer that loved him, a photographer that drove him wild with desire but a photographer that was out for the rest of the evening.

John Paul had been booked on a photoshoot that was scheduled to run until late, possibly past midnight, after which John Paul's other persona would keep him away from his dark haired lover until the next morning.

Craig sighed, a little sadly, he missed John Paul when they were apart for any reason but he knew he would have to get used to it.

"What shall we do this evening?" Craig asked Malaysia as he scooped the cat into his arms, to the sound of a discontented meow, which quickly settled into a purr as he place the cat on his lap and ran his hands along the length of her silky back.

In the past, when Craig had felt a little restless and in need of a distraction he would resort to a selection of amusements to see him through the night. Picking up beautiful women, or men, had been off the cards since the moment he had met John Paul. It wasn't even a case that he now believed he shouldn't sleep with anyone else, although that was how he felt, but more importantly he didn't want to. He couldn't imagine another person on the planet who could now make him want to forsake John Paul's bed.

Craig's second distraction was also now unavailable to him. Prowling the city's rooftops in the guise of The Ocelot was a pleasure of the past and, as much as his fingers still itched to be out there, as much as the dark city streets and alleys seemed to call him, Craig had made a promise, and one that he wanted to keep. But still he had been unable to dispose of The Ocelot's clothing, choosing at the last minute to stuff it away in the back of his wardrobe, he would throw it out one day Craig told himself, one day but just not yet.

The final source of distraction that would normally provide amusement if the others were unavailable to Craig would be to unlock his secret door and revel in the beauty of his stolen possessions. Craig turned a wistful gaze to the hidden door, it was still locked and alarmed as always, the treasures hidden inside worth countless millions, but as time passed his treasured collection was diminishing. Under the cover of darkness many of the items once housed in that room were finding their way back to their original owners as one by one John Paul, or rather The Knight, returned them to wherever they had been stolen from or, when Craig could not remember the details of the theft, the items would be left in the local police station, much to the surprise of the office in charge as no one ever saw who dropped the jewels or paintings off or knew why; and the one police officer who suspected he knew the truth said nothing, yet.

Craig laughed softly to himself as he recalled the first time he had unlocked the door and shown John Paul his hoard of stolen goods. Until that moment John Paul had never truly realised the extent of The Ocelot's crimes and the knowledge took his breath away.

For years Craig had dreamed of the moment when he could share the secret of his treasures with somebody special, little did he know that when he did finally find that person it would turn out to be the very same one who would want him to give them back. But somehow that didn't matter. Craig had seen John Paul's beautiful eyes widen with amazement and glisten more brightly than any of the gems in his collection and that sight made his heart race faster than anything he could hold in his hand. Possessions were transient, things of little consequence when compared to the feelings he got from something as simple as a smile on John Paul's soft lips or a touch of the man's hands.

"Is anything in this apartment actually paid for?" John Paul had asked with a laugh as he turned round and round in the small room, each shelf and display case filled with treasures more amazing than the last.

"A couple of things," Craig had replied, picking up a large emerald and tossing it from one hand to the other as if it were of no more consequence than a common tennis ball.

"I had no idea," John Paul had said, stepping back into the living room, "You are a very bad man Craig Dean…"

"But you're just the man to tame me?"

John Paul had laughed deeply as he laced his fingers between Craig's, there was a wildness in Craig's deep chocolate eyes and John Paul hoped that some of that would always be there.

"Next thing you'll be telling me is they're stolen," John Paul had giggled with a nod towards Craig's sleeping cats.

Craig's cheeks had blushed deeply making John Paul laugh even louder.

"It was a rescue," Craig had insisted, "If you'd have seen them you would have taken them too…" Craig's eyes had darkened for a moment as he looked at his precious pets. "I'm not giving them back!"

With a smile John Paul had kissed the tip of Craig's nose. "And I would never ask you to…"

Looking away from the hidden door Craig sighed again, there was nothing contained within that room that could quell the restless feeling that was growing inside him, rising up from his toes, filling his limbs to the point where he pushed Malaysia from his knee, to another annoyed mew from the cat, and began to pace the room.

Craig stopped as he approached a small painting that hung, almost unnoticed, on the wall near the doorway that led into the hall. It was nothing spectacular or impressive, and it certainly wasn't valuable, but Craig had loved it from the moment he had seen it in an old second hand shop and happily handed over the few dollars that the small sticker on the frame had declared it to be worth.

Stroking one fingertip across the painting's surface Craig smiled at the bright feline eyes that looked back at him. The artwork was only a few inches larger than his outstretched palm, but the cat depicted had been painted in such detail that it looked ready to leap from the wall, its fur appearing soft to the touch and its emerald eyes shimmering with wisdom as it stalked amongst the tall grasses and flowers. Beneath the cat, scratched into the oils, were the words that had sealed Craig's love for the painting.

'He is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him."

Craig hadn't known the Kipling story when he first bought the painting but the words that had been quoted from it spoke to something deep inside him. The freedom and the solitude and the independence of a feline life. The Ocelot had been such a cat, wild and free, prowling the rooftops of a city that could never catch him until The Knight had wrapped his strong fingers around Craig's heart and brought The Ocelot inside to be tamed.

Turning from the painting Craig threw himself back down on the sofa. If John Paul was home it wouldn't be so bad, the yearning to be out there wouldn't be clawing at his soul, when John Paul was there Craig didn't need the thrill of The Ocelot but when the blonde photographer was out the desire for that feeling of freedom would become overwhelming.

Sifting through a pile of newspapers that were scattered near the sofa Craig picked up one of the glossy magazines and flicked through the pages, desperate to find something to read, something to concentrate on.

He didn't expect to see the face that was suddenly staring back at him from the centre spread.

He didn't expect the sudden feeling of anger and frustration as he read the article that accompanied the picture of the aging balding man.

Max Midas had probably been a handsome man in his youth but age and good living had turned the toned physique to fat and added heavy jowls to a once chiselled jaw line, but despite the physical changes Craig would have recognised him anywhere, it was a face he had never forgotten.

The seventy three year old property developer grinned at Craig from the glossy pages as he showed off his young bride, his small piggy eyes shining with satisfaction as the pretty blonde woman beside him grinned inanely, a large diamond clinging to her finger and another hanging from a chain around her throat. It was unlikely that Max's latest marriage had been one of love but he had long been a man happy to buy whatever he couldn't take, and take whatever he could get away with.

Craig's fist crumpled the magazine up as his deep brown eyes blazed with anger. He remembered Max Midas alright. Craig might have only been a child but some memories remained emblazoned on the mind however old you were.

Craig could still hear his mother's anguished sobs as she pleaded with Mr Midas to allow her another week to find the rent.

"Please Mr Midas," Frankie had begged, "You can't turn us out on the streets… my son… my son needs a home… I'll find the money… Please… where will we go?"

Max Midas had laughed cruelly as he pinned the frightened woman to the wall, her young son shouting at the man to leave his mother alone, but Max had ignored the child's cries as insignificant and instead taunted the woman with suggestions of "other ways to pay" before snorting derisively and pushing Frankie to one side, causing her to stumble to the floor, her face streaked with tears and her eyes filled with fear.

Max Midas had made the young Craig and his mother homeless with as little concern as he would have had in throwing out an old shirt, no doubt forgetting their names the moment the door had slammed in their faces. But Craig Dean had never forgotten and something inside him snapped, it was time for that man to pay.

Craig didn't remember going into his bedroom, he didn't remember opening the wardrobe or changing his clothes but, in a matter of minutes, The Ocelot was racing across the city's rooftops in the direction of the property developer's mansion. For the first time in month's Craig didn't think about John Paul, this wasn't about them, this time it was for his mother and even a promise to John Paul couldn't stop him.

* * *

John Paul looked at his watch and grimaced.

Even though he knew it was unlikely he had still hoped beyond hope that the photo shoot would end in time for him to be able to spend at least a short time with Craig before the duties of The Knight called him away again. But as usual just when he wanted to finish early everything that could go wrong did, and he found himself losing patience with the airhead who seemed unable to understand the simplest of instructions.

Packing away his camera John Paul did a few mental calculations, although his apartment was closer to the photo shoot's location than Craig's it wouldn't take that much longer to get to the model's home and manage a few minutes with his boyfriend as he changed his clothing before he had to head out again.

As he tried to justify the additional journey John Paul's pocket began to vibrate with the arrival of a telephone call.

"Yes," John Paul said as he pulled The Knight's phone from his pocket, cursing the luck that meant he obviously didn't have the time to stop off at Craig's apartment after all.

"John Paul," Calvin said in a simple greeting.

"Trouble?"

"Maybe…"

"What's happened?"

"Craig Dean." The sound of his lover's name made John Paul take an involuntary gasp of breath.

"What about him?" John Paul asked in a faux calm voice as he wondered why Calvin would suddenly be saying the models name to him.

"You know him?"

"I'm a photographer, of course I know him…"

"But you KNOW him…"

"What are you getting at Calvin?"

"Here I was sitting with my feet up and a coffee… flicking through an old glossy magazine when what do I see but my old mate John Paul McQueen and his new boyfriend… the model… Craig Dean… what do you suppose that made me think?"

"Why don't you tell me?" John Paul's heart was racing, his palms slick with sweat as he fumbled with his camera bag and headed for the door.

"He's The Ocelot isn't he?"

"Do you have any proof?"

"I know you're protecting him John Paul…"

"You know nothing…"

"I am going to get him… I'll find the proof, or I'll catch him in the act… either way I know who to watch now… you can't prevent this John Paul."

"I told you," John Paul said as he threw his belongings in the back of his car before jumping into the driver's seat and revving the engine. "The Ocelot is retired… let it go Calvin, you'll never get him now…"

"Men like The Ocelot don't just stop… and if he's out there again I will catch him."

"He won't be," John Paul said before cancelling the call.

His knuckles white on the steering wheel John Paul closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Please god," John Paul whispered, "Don't let him be."


	9. Chapter 9

The journey to Craig's had been interrupted with a 'phone call, much to John Paul's annoyance. Fortunately the robbers had been ill equipped, inexperienced but it had still taken over an hour.

Craig Dean's apartment was located in the most affluent area of Hollyoaks City. The building towered high above the city, Craig living on the top floor, which had been divided into three sprawling homes that could well have been self contained little houses. Each of the three 'apartments' had their own private rooftop gardens, and access to the pool, gym and saunas which occupied the floor below. Boasting two bedrooms with en suites, a dining room, kitchen, two reception rooms, a small gym plus Craig's customisations, and a large hall way John Paul knew it was ordinarily out of most people's league – including successful models, that actually worked very little John Paul as had found out.

A small air vent led right across the other apartments, to an obscured skylight, which provided secret access to and from the apartment.

The Knight dropped through the small hole in the ceiling onto the floor inside the secret room Craig had used, until recently, to store a lot of what he had stolen along with anything else relating to his 'other life'.

Located behind a sliding door that formed two bookcases the room had opened reveal shelves and corners sparkled with a myriad of jewels, tokens of past crimes, of past achievements. Countless wealth that was hidden in a room where no one ever, ever saw it, no one but Craig and then John Paul. The secret of Craig's genius had been walled up in a small room hidden from everyone, and now it was pretty much empty save for the last few jewels that were waiting return and in the farthest corner the space where the Ocelot's outfits and arsenal usually hung, empty.

The sound of his armour echoed slightly, strong cold metal, as John Paul pulled back the mask to reveal his features, which were coated with a small amount of beaded sweat. His dark blonde hair appeared almost brown as he ran his gloved hand through it, quickly checked the LCD screens, which showed every room in Craig's place and whether it was safe to exit the room.

John Paul's brow furrowed as room after room appeared on the monitors – all empty save for the image of two cats, skulking around happily their opulent playground.

The cabinet hissed slightly as it rolled away letting John Paul exit into the main reception room in Craig's apartment. The lounge was minimally furnished, but with a subtle high-class elegance that seemed to suit Craig Dean perfectly; John Paul had grown to realise that Craig definitely had a taste and liking for style and nice things, and would have carefully selected each colour and item of furniture that adorned his home. A large gilt-edged mirror dominated the wall above the marble fireplace and it reflected back an abstract painting that hung opposite it – a painting that had long bothered John Paul. It was almost identical to one that had been stolen twelve months ago from a top gallery in Berlin, and was clearly the best type of copy and you could barely tell it wasn't the actual missing painting.

Slowly the realisation hit as the photographer charged through the apartment, opening each door and calling his lover's name over and over.

John Paul trembled as he walked into his lover's bedroom. The bed sat immaculately made. Craig's cleaner had never ceased to impress John Paul with how thorough she was. There was no sign of Craig.

The photographer turned to watch as the two white cats with golden tails happily climbed, almost in sync onto their owner's bed their green eyes fierce glowing at him. In those green pools John Paul saw the predatory glare of a lion, a tiger and jaguar – the hint of still not being fully tame. Perhaps that was why he preferred dogs? Yet they looked through him, directly behind him to the open walk in cupboard.

John Paul didn't turn round. He knew what the cats were gleefully telling him – something he knew in his core already. The 'spare' outfit would not be hung casually behind all the other clothes.

With purposeful strides John Paul retraced his steeps, fastening the mask back over his features and chided against the God's silently for his unanswered prayer. The Knight's metal encased feet walked over the screwed up magazine, looking down only momentarily before rejoining the night once more.

* * *

An Ocelot looks almost like a domestic cat. Their clouded leopards coat once a favourite for lovers of the fur trade. Almost exclusively nocturnal it is a solitary animal, possessive and a fierce fighter, which will happily lounge in trees and pursue its prey with a cruel streak as if it were a game, letting the hunted believe it has got away right until the last moment. When it is not hunting it preens its coat, never looking anything but perfect.

In truth Craig had never given himself the name – it had been the media that directly baptised him under that title following a throw away decision to leave a small 'calling card' which had been emblazoned with his mother's favourite animal. In hindsight it had been both a good and poor decision, letting the Ocelot's name and reputation grow and grow.

A large billboard towered over one of the high rise buildings which sat adjacent to Max Midas' penthouse. A man lay on his side on a black satin couch. His muscular body was dressed in a dark suit, a blue shirt open at the collar showing some of his olive skin. His hair was dark brown, curling over his collar, his flesh rich with an olive Mediterranean tint. His eyes were a velvety brown, like rich chocolate framed with long eyelashes that fanned on his cheek when he blinked. His half smile was crowned with a small mole above his top lip, and his entire body matched the slogan beneath him – 'LOOK DEVINE'.

Gingerly Craig disabled the alarm. With one carefully cut wire Max Midas' penthouse became his playground, the CCTV taken out. The panic buttons nothing more than large, hidden pathetically silent pieces of security. The sensors desensitised.

In truth that was the high. Outsmarting. Triumphing. Excelling.

The Ocelot moved through the penthouse with practised silence, clad from head to toe in midnight black. As much as Craig enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, and the added bonus of wiping the smile from Max Midas' fat face, he knew he couldn't afford to hang around. You got in, and you got out. That was the art of a good night's work – swift reclamation of the prize.

And there it was. Sat around a faux dummy's neck, sparking like a thousand night stars was the diamond necklace worn in the photo shoot.

The Ocelot's hands trembled slightly as he reached out. His throat ran dry, his heart pounded in his chest and for the first time that night he saw John Paul's face in his minds eye. But this was nothing about John Paul. This was about reclaiming the lost dignity of his mother, about settling scores – and twisting the hand of karma firmly back onto Midas' cruel, selfish face. However much the two blue eyes shimmered they couldn't mitigate the hazel-green eyes of his broken hearted mother, serving boil in the bag pasta on Hanukkah in a refuge after being thrown out onto the cold streets of Hollyoaks City.

Just as the Knight had been created out of injustice, so had the Ocelot.

Gripping the bejewelled necklace the Ocelot turned his mask face to the open door where Midas slept, snoring loudly. Let there be none to extend mercy unto him… with his mother's words echoing through his head, the Ocelot left his calling card.

With perfect ease Craig moved back through the room, out to the office windows, which led into a marble balcony. The sound of the night echoed slightly along the cold breeze, the cars travelling the dark wet roads below him. Within moments he had climbed and swung himself onto the main roof, running through the blackness and darting from one rooftop to the other, his body a black silhouette against the giant silver full moon which hung silently in the inky black sky.

The adrenalin rose through his body, his heart racing with excitement as he sprinted across the gap between one building to another; his lithe, long strong body moved with fluid ease – his skills seldom seen even in the best gymnast. The Ocelot hurled his body forwards, his back arching as his hands touched the ground arching his back further in a forward flip until he came to rest, in a crouched position high up the tower of the gigantic towers over St. Jude's cathedral.

Through the night sky droplets of rain were carried through the heavy winds, which rattled through the stone gargoyles that leapt from the gothic arches of the battered building at the centre of the city. The Ocelot reached into his pouch and removed the glistening diamond, his fingers snaking slightly allowing the gem to catch the light. Craig flinched as his wrist burnt with the sudden contact of a strong hand clenched around it, his body darting to full height, as he turned round.

Within seconds the dividing walls had resurfaced. The Knight and the Ocelot once more on opposite sides.

Craig lunged his free hand at John Paul, forcing the Knight to relinquish his hold.

The Ocelot slid his body down, crashing onto the large flat lower roofs of the gigantic side chapels. His body moved in and out of the life sized statues of various saints and angels, descending further down onto the small covered entrance, his body moving in and out of the horrific, tortured statues of the dammed which built up one half of the Last Judgement pediment. His mind raced with the implications of what he had done punctuated by the echoing footsteps of his lover behind him.

Both men raced across the rooftops, their bodies spinning in summersault, back flips and copious displays of agility. It was second nature to them, their bodies at one with night sky as it showered across the rooftops which were their pavements. In those moments they were the same. Agile. Powerful. Secretive. Dark. They were part of the multitude shadows that enveloped the city, as much as one with the night as the blackness of the sky.

Two tiny stars dancing in the blackness, the sound of the night harbour filling the sky as the salt lingered in the air.

"Craig this isn't funny," John Paul growled through his mask, his voice the cold disguised tones of the Knight. "I know you weren't taking anything back…"

John Paul was right, it wasn't funny – Craig rushed his body forward, his feet stepping up a wall with agility that was spellbinding before he launched himself. He moved with the fluidity of water; his strong body rippling underneath his black Kevlar armour which clung tightly to his frame, his muscles twisting in perfect ease.

With effortless grace the Ocelot threw himself forward, his feet kicking him from the concentre wall, his body moving in a forward back flip closing the gap between him and Knight with such speed he was able to get the upper hand, knocking John Paul down to the floor.

John Paul reacted with fury, his armoured hand crashing against Craig's shielded face. The two men rolled on the floor, their breathes echoed through the voice distortion software in their full masks.

The Knight's grip on the Ocelot's wrists tightened as he used the weight of his entire armoured body to hold down the man he loved. The man he was now worried would break his heart.

Craig's knee crashed into the Knight's groin with searing pain, the contact sending the city's protector backwards and letting the thief regain his upper hand, and his height as he dragged himself to his feet once more.

Stepping forward Craig flinched as his eyes met his lover's. Through the tiny gap inside John Paul's full mask, cast in shadows, Craig saw the pools of pain that looked out at him. John Paul could have easily moved, easily have kicked out. He could have launched another attack.

Instead he stopped still. He watched as Craig moved to the edge of the roof, Yoshi's Sushi Bar a few rooftops away. The water howled angrily in the wind, crashing against the side of the building.

Still John Paul remained lay still on the rooftop, looking up at the blackness.

Craig reached into his pocket and pulled the necklace out, the diamonds burning into his glove.

"There are far, far worse than me," Craig declared bitterly. "I never took from anyone who couldn't afford it – anyone who didn't have more than enough already. Anything I took was insured, often probably never really missed. The CEOs, MDs, bankers, senators and fat cats who drown in their wealth while their employees live on the breadline, while their tenants are made homeless for missing a payment – those are the real thieves…"

"So you're a communist now," John Paul scoffed.

"No," Craig hissed throwing the diamond necklace angrily through the air, watching the diamonds glisten brightly in the star filled night before it twisted and turned down into a water grave. "I'm the result of their crimes… just like the Knight is the result of someone else's."

"Unlike the Knight though," John Paul announced flatly, "your identity isn't a secret anymore – Calvin has worked out who the Ocelot is so you'd better get back to the flat!"

"What?"

* * *

Pulling the Kevlar armour from his body Craig emerged with little concern or his normal careful ease, his naked body angrily padding to the wet room adjacent to his bedroom. Nikolai and Malaysia ran round his feet, meowing their concern, and yet Craig paid them little mind as he searched out the activation button to turn on the jets making his two pampered felines hiss with disapproval.

The model craved the relaxing heat of the water, turning up the temperature right to the point where it bordered on uncomfortable, and submerged his face beneath the running water. Within seconds his olive skin had turned a deeper shade of warm pink, and his body adjusted to the slightly too hot water. He had always hated the cold, the apartment often far too warm for some people. The water running down his features the model turned his face from side to side, letting the water run in rivulets from his jaw line down his body.

His hands trembled as they rested against the wet tiles, his head arching forward allowing the water to run down his back in gentle lines making wet translucent tiger stripes down his form, washing off the sweat of his exertion and restoring Craig to a sense of freshness and washing away the scent of the Kevlar.

Turning the water up a little more Craig felt tears mingle with the water – if only everything else could be washed away.

"Craig?"

The sound of John Paul's voice was muffled by the water, but loud enough to grab the model's attention. Turning the jets off Craig padded out of the shower, grabbing a towel and storming back into the lounge.

John Paul tore his mask off, his chest rising and falling as he swallowed nervously at the sight of his boyfriend. Craig was soaking wet, his dark brown hair was almost black and wetly clinging to his scalp, a wet fringe slightly obscuring his eyes. His legs still had streams of water running down them the brown hairs looking thick wet, and the small amount of hair on his chest seemed to shimmer in the light bright wall lights.

John Paul found himself staring at the small wet hairs on his lover's pecs, which rose and fell as Craig breathed before eyeing the double ringed bellybutton that he suddenly wanted to kiss, and down to the models hanging manhood that crowned the space between the brunette's legs.

"Your calling card," John Paul announced placing down the small piece of card Craig had left in Midas' penthouse. "Retrieved."

Both men looked silently at the card, which sat on the coffee table between them. It might have only been a piece of thick paper, no bigger than an old fashioned calling card, but it was suddenly a wall between the two men; a wall of betrayal in so many ways.

"Thank you," Craig replied bluntly.

"For what? Breaking and entering, taking police evidence and covering your tracks…" John Paul asked sarcastically.

"I didn't ask you to," Craig interjected angrily, finally wrapping the towel around his waist. Malaysia rushed through the lounge, jumping onto the coffee table and pawed at the card, the sound of her purr echoing through the silence between the two men.

"I trusted you," John Paul sighed, his gloved hands wiping the mixture of sweat and tears from his eyes.

"Yeah well you shouldn't have," Craig hissed. Turning round to face away from his boyfriend, running his hand through his dark brown hair that was still wet. The cool water clung to his strong hands, his body suddenly aching from his work out as he flopped down onto the sofa, his two cats appearing either side of his within seconds. "How can you trust someone to stop being them…?"

"This isn't you!" John Paul pleaded, removing the gloves from his costume and peeling the upper armour from his torso. His stomach flattened as the midnight blue costume peeled from his pale skin, his arms stretched above his head.

Craig swallowed heavily at the sight, watching the city's protector suddenly morph back into his boyfriend. The only trouble was there was no Knight really, just John Paul. Just as their was no Ocelot really – just Craig. How cruel was fate bringing them together?

"How isn't this me? Do you really think the Ocelot is just that outfit?"

John Paul said nothing; instead he folded his arms across his chest, and looked out into the night's sky. The first hint of morning could be seen. The dark black heavens had turned a pinkish red, a glimmer of light stretching right out in the darkest portions of the deep purple hue. In the distance the spire of St. Jude's could be seen.

"Can you really split a person in half?" Craig asked. "I am me – all of me. I could do all that dressed in anything, I don't need the outfit. I didn't even have it when I started out, just a simple black top and jeans. This is me. The person you kiss… the person you love."

"No…" John Paul whispered, pressing his forehead against the cool plane of glass. "That's not it… it's about what you do. Calvin knows."

"What's he going to do?"

"He's a police officer, Craig."

"And you're the Knight," Craig answered flatly. "Are you going to take me in then?"

"I told you if you did it again," John Paul mumbled, his throat running dry with the gravity of the words he was speaking. His eyes look down into the glass in front of him, his chest heavily rising and falling. He had told Craig if he ever… ever took again like that he couldn't protect him. He would have to do the right thing and let them take him. It was so simple in words, in the fantasy of believing Craig could switch off everything like a button.

But it wasn't easy was it? Could he just switch off like that? Craig had been right. Nobody would live this kind of life by choice, it was a result. A consequence of something else and you couldn't just sift out bits as easily as turning a switch on and off. Just as John Paul couldn't just let Max Midas find that calling card: so he had snuck in and retrieved it, smashing the security system for good measure – hiding the clear cuts of the Ocelot's expertise.

"What would it take to let go...?" John Paul whispered. Craig had once asked him that weeks ago before everything got complicated.

"What?" Craig asked, raising his one leg onto the sofa his head resting on his clenched fist.

"You asked me what it would take to let go…" John Paul repeated, turning round. "In the Sushi bar. You told me there were places outside of this city. Paris. Milan. London…"

"I don't follow," Craig asked, his face contorted slightly in puzzlement.

"What did I say to you… I told you what it would take," John Paul whispered, his body trembling with what he was contemplating. Craig raised himself up further, his feet clumsily supporting his body as it rose to full height.

"Ignore it," Craig whispered as his buzzer went mad, over and over the sound of the front door demanding answering.

The two Turkish Vans ran round the room meowing in confusion, their white bodies contrasting with their orange gold tails which thrashed from side to side. It wasn't even four o'clock in the morning and somebody wanted answering.

"Who the fuck is that!" Craig turned stepping into the hallway John Paul only inches behind. The model sighed as he pressed enter, the words Calvin spoke echoing in his air as John Paul looked at the video link near the front door.

Calvin Valentine was tall and muscled. His body appeared somewhat unnaturally large in his uniform, making him almost 'cocky' looking. He moved down the hallway, not acknowledging his former brother in law whose lower body was still clad in the armour of his night attire.

"So there's a robbery at Max Midas' tonight," Calvin announced, his features grave and flat. His voice grave and yet strangely excitable, with a hint of panic. Calvin Valentine had always wanted to be a police man, growing up with a layabout father and in deprived area – he had wanted to make a difference ever since childhood, and his dream had been realised when he applied and was accepted into Hollyoaks City's police force at the age of seventeen. Working hard he had risen steadily thorough the ranks and gained the respect of his colleagues along the way. "The security system was disabled…"

"What do you want Calvin?" John Paul asked stepping forward, his eyes angrily squaring up with his former brother in law's, his arms folded against his chest.

"I want you to look me in the eyes and say to me that it wasn't him," Calvin pointed to Craig.

"Don't be ludicrous," John Paul mumbled. "What would this have to do with Craig…?"

"It's got the Ocelot's fingerprints all over it," Calvin growled between gritted teeth. "And however hard someone tries to cover that, forensics will show up."

"Craig was here all night with me," John Paul replied wrapping his arm around his lover.

Calvin looked down at John Paul's armour clad legs, his gaze moving upwards slowly as he shook his head in disbelief. It was like John Paul was a different person. A different man – and the reason was plainly obvious. Calvin let his eyes met with Craig's. The dark haired man looked so ordinary, just a model. The handsome face from Vogue and Cosmo, from adverts and catwalks. He had seen Craig Dean so many times – how could this man have been the Ocelot?

But he was. He knew that.

Calvin stepped forward and gripped Craig's wrist, the model showing his strength and skill breaking free of the officer's grip.

"Craig Dean I'm arresting you on suspicion of theft," Calvin barked.

John Paul growled his anger as he threw Calvin against the wall, his arms pinning the large man against it their bodies mere inches apart. The handsome aquiline features of the photographer had blackened, his blue eyes shimmering with a mixture of venomous hatred and genuine pain.

"You have to have evidence Calvin," John Paul growled, "and I can promise you there is no evidence and if you take him in you have to take me in too – and I don't think you'll want to do that…"

"You?" Calvin blinked confused.

"Vigilantism is a crime last time I checked. I'm pretty sure I'm on that wanted list too."

"You're no better than him mate," Calvin hissed as he pushed John Paul from him, looking at the two men who were stood side by side. In that instant Calvin knew that new lines had been drawn and slammed the door behind him. However much he tried he couldn't take John Paul in, even if it meant getting the Ocelot too.

John Paul walked silently back into the lounge, removing the last vestiges of his armour and shaking his head cast it aside into the small gap between the bookshelves.

"I've always wanted to go to Paris," he sighed, his body trembling.

"Paris?" Craig asked.

John Paul turned round and faced his lover. His dominant hand touched his head as he spoke, his tongue nervously licking at his lips as he swallowed back. His dark blonde hair still looked blonde with sweat, dulled by the gel he used in his day job.

"You asked me why I stopped in Hollyoaks and what it would take to let go," John Paul croaked. "Its ghosts… I watched my sister's killers gets off. We didn't even get to know who they were working for… but they were rich. Rich enough to exploit loop holes… and I swore, I swore on that pain of being alone without anyone anymore that I wouldn't let that happen."

"John Paul I'm sorry…"

"But the thing is I'm not alone now am I? You said we're made by circumstances and its true, you and I we're the same basically. I still miss our Carmel but it doesn't hurt as bad as it did because I've got something else to feel. I love you… you're enough to let go…"

"I don't follow?" Craig said, desperately hoping that what he thought his lover was saying wasn't right.

"I can let go of the Knight," John Paul sighed placing his lips to his boyfriend's. "From tonight there is just us, we'll disappear together."

* * *

The pale yellow light of sunrise crept through the gap between the curtains, falling onto the deep purple sheets.

Malaysia stretched out idly on the pillow she had positioned her lithe body on as Nikolai's tail, a deep orange that bordered on gold, darted, violently, from side to side as he surveyed his sister. His eyes narrowed, making the small patch of black fur on his face more pronounced, more noticeable.

The tomcat crouched his body down, moving slowly across the sheets as if he was dragging his form like a soldier in battle – his sister's eyes fixed as she hissed warningly, making him reconsider his actions and move to the gap between the legs of the two men in the sheet, his sister's tail thrashing side to side in triumph as she rolled onto her side, purring as she triumphantly kneaded the bed sheets.

The sound of the mobile 'phone ringing disturbed the photographer, his hands blindly moving about on the bedside table as he tried to find the offending gadget.

He winced slightly at the sight of his brother in law's name, his legs moved instinctively but stopping at the last minute as his realisation kicked in. Calvin only called that number for one reason, and that reason existed no more.

John Paul cancelled the call and turned the 'phone off, sliding the back off and removing the SIM which he crushed between his two fingers letting the 'phone drop to the floor, startling the two cats.

Craig's arm draped across John Paul's chest as the photographer lay back down, his neck savouring the feelings of Craig's breath as the model snuggled close to him. Lazily the two men's lips brushed together, Craig sighing in contentment.

"Mmmmm," the model whispered, his eyes opening slightly before closing. "Too early to get up."

"I know and I've got the day off," John Paul reminded him as they closed their eyes.

Neither man heard the sound of sirens chasing a car through the streets of the City, or the cry when the joyrider crashed into an innocent pedestrian, as they slept soundly.

* * *

The bright February morning had passed gently into afternoon until the pale diluted sun of a still wintery day had faded away in the evening sky allowing the night to take a hold of the city.

Despite still keeping his own apartment John Paul had all but moved in with Craig, his possessions slowly filling the drawers with no real intentions of ever taking them back 'home'. There seemed little point in making their joint living arrangements official until they left Hollyoaks City, and its ghosts, far behind the, but both men had already made enquires with the local real estate to sell their apartments, a job that could be completed once they were gone.

The television played quietly in the background, its flickering images casting dancing shadows around the room, although neither man really paid much attention to it as they sat curled up together on the sofa.

Malaysia lay beside John Paul, her head just resting against his leg as she purred a slumberous song, his fingertips absentmindedly tickling her ears as she drifted off to sleep. Nikolai was lying with his paws on Craig's leg, his head on top of them and one eye flickering open occasionally to observe the blonde man who showed little intention of actually going away and not coming back. Craig's hand stroked softly along the length of the tom cat's back and Nikolai reluctantly gave in to the contentment of the rest of the room's occupants. Maybe having John Paul around wasn't so bad after all.

John Paul couldn't stop his gaze from flickering occasionally to the mantle piece where, propped up beneath the gilt-edged mirror, sat an envelope containing his future. His future with Craig. Plane tickets to Paris, not that Paris was a specific goal but it was a starting point, a launch pad from which the two men could begin again, leaving Hollyoaks City, The Knight and The Ocelot far behind.

Unfortunately leaving the two cats behind was an unforeseen complication to the men's plans for escape, but Craig had agreed that it would be more than unsettling for the two felines to be dragged from city to city until a permanent home had been decided on, and that was before the question of possible quarantine had been addressed. Craig hated the thought of leaving Malaysia and Nikolai behind and had made sure that their temporary foster home would be filled with the luxuries that the cat's had come to expect as normal, he had no intentions of letting them suffer until he could bring them to live with him again.

"What shall we do next week?" Craig asked as he scratched at Nikolai's ears, the cat's purr getting louder the harder he scratched.

"Next week?" John Paul replied with a shrug.

"Typical," Craig laughed, "I end up with the worlds least romantic boyfriend!"

"I don't follow you…"

"It's valentine's day John Paul… you know… a day for lovers…"

"Is it? I thought that had passed ages ago," John Paul frowned as he tried to recall the date, "I remember doing a photo shoot for it… big red love hearts and rose petals all over the place…"

"And you don't think that maybe the shoot was done in advance?" Craig teased. "Or maybe you really do think that Christmas falls some time around October too?"

"Yeah point made," John Paul laughed with a playful nudge of his boyfriend. "But if you're so up on all the holidays how come you don't already have something planned? All the restaurants will have been booked up ages ago."

"How do you know I don't," Craig said with a slow deliberate wink, his face alive with the brightness of his smile.

Twelve months ago the gorgeous model Craig Dean believed he had the perfect life. Money, luxuries and the company of some of the world's most beautiful people, most of whom were more than happy to spend some time in his bed. He didn't think his life was lacking in anything, he knew he was the envy of so many and he enjoyed the envious and often lustful eyes that would follow him wherever he went. Not only did Craig have all that but he also had the added excitement of his other secret life that topped up his not inconsiderable bank account and kept his blood racing in a way that nothing else ever had before.

Then he met John Paul McQueen and discovered the one thing that had been missing, the one thing he didn't even noticed he didn't have and didn't realise he wanted, needed so much. John Paul brought love into the brunette models life and now it really was perfect. The money, the lifestyle, that was nothing, it paled into insignificance when he discovered what it was like to care for another person that much that their happiness was more important than his own.

Giving up The Ocelot hadn't been easy, sometimes the craving to be out there again would be a physical ache, driving him close to the edge of giving in, the lure of an addiction that Craig knew he was far from cured of, but he knew he could beat it, he wanted to beat it, all for and because of the blonde haired blue eyed man who had become a far greater addiction.

"So?" John Paul asked eagerly, "What's the plans… you have to tell me now…damn we should have booked our flights sooner… Valentines in Paris, now that would have been perfect."

"You know we had stuff to sort out here first, besides Valentines with you, that's all I need," Craig said, leaning forward to kiss his boyfriend's soft lips, the truth of his words almost enough to scare him. He didn't need the money or the lifestyle, he didn't need to be Craig Dean the Model or Craig Dean The Ocelot. He was all of those things and yet he was none of those things and slowly he was realising that being just Craig was enough, Craig the man that John Paul loved. "But I am working that morning…"

"Craig!"

"It was a good offer… I can't afford to turn these things down any more…"

In truth Craig Dean could afford to turn down any and all offers of work. His years as The Ocelot had made him far richer than being a model ever could, and whereas returning artwork and jewellery had been fairly easy to facilitate – getting rid of the web of accounts that were littered as far a field as Argentina, Switzerland and Monaco wasn't so easy without attracting too much attention. There were only so many donations a model could make, even anonymously, without the taxman getting suspicious. Eventually even John Paul was stumped and had to accept the uncomfortable nest egg they had, his blue eyes shimmering with shock when he found out just how much Craig was now worth. But still, it didn't hurt to appear to be earning an honest living as some photographer's muse – plus it helped deal with the boredom.

"I know," John Paul sighed, "We'll just have to make the most of the day when you get home."

"Deal!"

The men's fingers laced together as John Paul's head fell to rest on Craig's shoulder. He was starting to feel free from the ghosts that had haunted most of his adult life. John Paul had been consumed with a need for justice for so long, with seeing the guilty punished and the innocent protected, that he had taken to neglecting his own needs, but now he was starting to learn that sometimes it was alright to put himself first, and now maybe it was finally time for someone else to play the hero, John Paul was ready to just be the man.

With his eyes half closed John Paul watched the flickering images of an inane television commercial, advertising a product he neither knew nor had any interest in purchasing, sleep almost talking over him when the images suddenly changed and the words "News Flash" filled the screen.

The newsreaders face was stern, her blonde hair tied back in a harsh ponytail and her green eyes darkened and somewhat downcast as she read the words that flickered over the teleprompter in front of her.

John Paul's body tensed, Malaysia squirmed and then jumped down from the man's side after his grip on her tightened uncomfortably, causing her to cast him a disapproving look before she stalked away to the comfort of her deeply padded basket.

"News is just coming in of an armed raid on the First National Bank in downtown Hollyoaks City," the Newsreaders calm voice announced. "Although it is uncertain at this time how many robbers were involved we are being told that shots have been fired inside the bank."

John Paul closed his eyes and held his breath as he desperately tried to unhear the news report. It felt too familiar, too close to home and an unstoppable guilt clawed at his chest as the newsreader continued.

"It has just been confirmed that the police have just stormed the First National Bank and apprehended all of the armed robbers," the blonde woman continued, her demeanour calm and matter of fact, as if she were doing nothing more than reporting the days weather or sports results. "And," the newsreader put her hand to her ear for a moment as she received the latest updates, "I can now tell you that, unfortunately there had been one casualty, a woman, as yet unnamed, was caught in the crossfire and is reported dead at the scene…"

Grabbing the remote control Craig switched off the television, he could feel John Paul's tension as he desperately searched for the words to say that would make it alright, but he didn't know what they were, if they even existed.

"John Paul," Craig began, his hand stroking his lover's arm with uncertainty.

"Don't," John Paul replied with a half smile. John Paul couldn't help but think of the family who, even now, were sat at home waiting for that young woman to return, but she never would. Just as Carmel's had been her life was now ended because of someone else's greed and quest for wealth. John Paul could remember the pain of losing his sister in that way, he could remember the realisation that he was alone, that the only person he had in the world had been taken from him and nobody could ever tell him why.

"I just…" Craig bit his lip as he looked into the depths of John Paul's startling blue eyes and saw the pain of a man reliving a terrible loss.

"It's not my responsibility anymore," John Paul said with a shrug as he got to his feet. "I can't save them all… I did my best… I… I helped where I could…"

"You did more than anyone could ever have asked of you," Craig assured, his hands reaching for his lover in a need to offer reassurance and comfort, an offer that was rebuffed as John Paul stepped away.

"I'm tired," John Paul said as he headed towards the hallway. "I should go home…"

"You're not staying?"

"I just… I need some space OK? But I'll see you tomorrow."

"John Paul I… I love you…"

"Yeah… me too…"

Craig sat in silence staring at the closed door long after John Paul had left. Malaysia and Nikolai scampered around the room, stopping occasionally to try and attract the man's attention but he didn't see them. All he could see was the pain in John Paul's eyes.

"What have I done?" Craig whispered to himself, the answer far too painful to voice.

* * *

John Paul stirred in his bed as his mobile beeped the arrival of a text message. His eyes felt heavy and grainy as he rubbed his hands against them and sighed. The photographer had slept only fitfully for the past few days, his slumber disturbed and broken but he wasn't certain if it had been the memory of the news report or the lack of Craig at his side that had stolen sleep from him.

Five days had passed since the bank robbery and, although John Paul had done his best to block it from his mind it was constantly there, taunting him, berating him, making him feel like he had let someone very important down.

Reaching out an arm John Paul groped for his phone, peering at it with bleary eyes before Craig's name finally came into focus on the illuminated screen.

Propping himself up on a couple of pillows John Paul yawned as he accessed the message that the model had sent to him.

"I've gone to work, come to mine as soon as you like… I love you John Paul McQueen xxx"

John Paul smiled as he quickly thumbed his response. "Love you too. See you soon x"

It had seemed to make sense the previous evening when Craig had suggested John Paul spent the night in his own apartment as the model had to be up early for the photo shoot, but with a sigh John Paul silently wished that he had been able to kiss his lover a good valentine's morning.

Looking at the clock John Paul flung aside his duvet and got to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head as he slowly worked his muscles to ease the aches that a restless night had given him. A shower would help, and seeing Craig, that would help most of all.

Pulling out the drawer of his bedside cabinet John Paul fished out a framed photograph, a sad smile flickering across his face as he looked at the image of the beautiful blonde woman, her face radiant with love and joy as she basked in the attention of her wedding day.

"I'm sorry Carmel," John Paul said to the photograph, touching his lips briefly to the cold glass. "I did try… but I could never save them all…"

* * *

Craig's apartment was empty when John Paul arrived, save for its two permanent feline residents, both of whom dashed towards him as he opened the door and began circling his legs, rubbing against him so much that it almost caused him to trip.

"What's this?" John Paul asked laughingly as he finally shooed the cats away enough to allow him space to walk. "Acceptance at last?"

Nikolai looked up at the blonde man and mewed pitifully, the cats green eyes pleading for something that John Paul could not decipher.

"Did Craig go out and forget to feed you?" John Paul asked, bending down to stroke both cats, his hands running along their backs and to the tips of their tails. "That's not like him is it? Shall we see if we can find you something in the kitchen?"

Scooping up Malaysia in one arm John Paul headed towards the kitchen, laughing as the cat raised her head repeatedly with the result of a soft furry head butt to the chin over and over again.

A large white envelope on the mantelpiece beneath the gilt edged mirror caught John Paul's eye, redirecting him from the kitchen as he saw his name written across it in Craig's familiar hand.

"Did Craig get me a valentine's card?" John Paul asked with a grin as he picked up the envelope before perching himself on the edge of the sofa to open it, placing Malaysia on the floor at his feet.

As he tore open the envelope John Paul realised it was far too thin to contain the suspected card and instead he withdrew a folded sheet of paper.

_Dear John Paul,_

_I feel a coward saying goodbye to you in a letter. Well, I guess I am coward but I know if I say it to your face I'd never go – and I do have to go. I really do._

_I've watched you these last few days, torturing yourself and I know whatever you say I'm the cause of that. I can't be the cause of pain to you. As long as I'm around I know you'll put me first, but if that is at the expense of your conscience how long will it be until you resent me? I don't think I could stand to see resentment in your eyes and know I put it there._

_I can't stand to watch you beat yourself up because, for the chance of your own happiness, you feel you've let people down. I know there is a reason you put that mask on, and until that reason is gone I don't think you can ever stop being the Knight._

_The truth is John Paul I'm so in love with: all of you. Not just the photographer but also the Knight. They aren't two different people – they are the same. You've changed my life, and I hope I have changed yours too, but I don't want to change you to the detriment._

_I can't stop you being you, and in the same way I don't think I can stop being me._

_There isn't a Craig Dean and the Ocelot; it is one and the same. One man. But the man you met has gone – you've changed me for the better, so please don't let me change you for the worse. When we first met I went out and stole for a hit, because I could, for the adrenalin, for the high. For the satisfaction of knowing I was the best. Trying to find something that has always been missing._

_Maybe its karma but I don't get that adrenalin anymore. Not from stealing, or outsmarting some high security. I get it – I got it – from being with you. I found what was missing from my life in you John Paul McQueen – how could I tarnish that? You've changed me and now I need to find out just who Craig Dean is – I don't think I can do that if you're around._

_I know there is a chance you could find me, so I'll ask one final thing from you: please don't try. Please just let me go and carry on. Put on that suit and go out and fight for what you believe in. Be the hero I know you are – be my hero._

_I've left you three things. They're the three most valuable things I have. Nikolai and Malaysia. Please look after them – I'm sure the three of you will get on eventually. As long as they're being fed they're not too difficult. The other is the box. I wont say what it is but it's something I've had for a long time._

_Maybe in time things will be different. But I think that says it all._

_I love you John Paul McQueen,_

_Craig x_

John Paul couldn't breathe. The letter fell from his hands as he shook his head from side to side trying to dislodge the words that seemed permanently burning into his eyes, the pain of each one piercing his heart like a sharp blade.

"No, no, no…" John Paul repeated over and over again as he tried to process what had just happened. Craig had gone. Left him. Just like that.

Racing into Craig's bedroom John Paul tore open the wardrobe and pulled out drawers. All were empty. There was nothing but a small wooden box sitting in the centre of the neatly made bed. Climbing onto the bed John Paul cradled the box in his lap, hardly noticing when Malaysia and Nikolai jumped up to join him, their bodies pressing into him, mewing softly as they shared in the pain of his loss.

John Paul accepted the warm cat's onto his lap, his arms pulling them close to him as he rocked slowly, his face becoming damp with silent tears.

Craig had gone, left him, left them all.

But at the same time John Paul knew that Craig didn't just leave him, he didn't grow bored or fall out of love and decide to simply go away. John Paul knew that Craig left him in order to save him.

* * *

'Flight LX 7891 to Zurich is boarding now'

The glass wall looked out at the runway, stretching the entire length of the first class waiting area. Grey art deco pillars were obscured by potted palms near the windows, while niches in the marbled walls opposite were filled with dark black vases topped with tiny orchids, lit by hidden spots lights. Black leather chaise longue, divans and ottomans and nestled around in a slightly random arrangement, as waitresses walked through with glass trays carrying drinks.

The rain obscured the view outside running along the dark glass like crystalline worms, melding into each other as the impressive sight of planes landing and taking off became nothing more than a surreal light show glistening through the darkness.

Quietly a figure moved down the long corridor, slightly apart from the other few passengers as if he was in a world of his own, isolated and disorientated. His one hand clutched his passport, ticket stuck between the pages and a small black case rattling after him. A long black coat flapped behind him, almost like a cloak, with each step, his dark brown hair wet with rain; his eyes were obscured by the dark black retro sunglasses that were completely at odds with the stormy February weather.

'Passengers for Flight AF 5132 to Paris CDG are requested to make their way to the departure lounge now…'

A small sign declared 'Ticketed Passengers Only', guarded by three white shirted impassive men as the figure moved past, his thumb trailing over the leather of his passport case.

"Excuse me sir," a voice called behind him, making him freeze on the spot. Turning round slowly the figure sighed as he met the gaze of young blonde haired man. The twinkle of his blue eyes seemed unduly bright, and yet he dark haired man refused to meet them or return the apologetic smile. "Can I see your passport please?"

The dark haired man handed the passport over, his hands almost lifeless and lethargic in their motion. The blonde haired figure opened the small booklet, looking over the Air France ticket and then down at the picture of the dark haired figure, full of life and handsome vitality even in the sombre passport picture of 'CRAIG DEAN'. The blonde let his eyes pace between the photograph and the obscured face of the figure, almost disbelievingly.

"Could you take off your sunglasses, Sir?"

With a sigh Craig removed his dark shades. His chocolate brown eyes were puffed up and reddened, their beauty obscured with the bitterness of a thousand tears. The white of his eyes seemed to match the red shirt that was unbuttoned to expose a black T shirt. His long brown eyes lashes were still damp as they touched his cheek in a slow wearied blink. Once more the customs officer looked from the carefree face of the photograph to the pain wracked image in front of him.

It seemed almost impossible, and yet they were clearly the same man.

"Thank you Mr. Dean," the customs officer whispered apologetically handing back the passport, "enjoy Paris, Sir..."

Craig accepted the passport back silently, his hands restoring the sunglasses to their protective place over his reddened eyes. Turning round he moved silently off into the distance, a single tear appearing on his face beneath the rim of the glasses and trailing down his features in a zig zag, until it clung precariously to his chin, before falling down onto his shirt.

* * *

On a high rooftop, a solitary figure stood motionless and impassive. The chill of the wind and rain didn't seem to touch the figure who surveyed the quiet streets below with a steady gaze. His static stance as he lingered in the half shadows, gave the strange man the look of a beautifully sculpted statue. His strongly muscled arms were folded across his chest, the close fit of his clothing emphasising every gentle curve of his body, as his intelligent eyes continued to stare unblinking at the world before him.

A break in the dark cloud cover directed a beam of bright moonlight towards the figure, giving only slight illumination to the man's dark outfit. It was dark, midnight blue. The same shade the night reaches when the moon's illusionary light fades, threatening the heavens with oncoming blackness. Silver armour clung to his legs, arms and chest, crowned with a full mask. It was this razor sharp armour that had earned him his name.

Beneath the armour he wore something which gave him more strength than he had possessed before, something more to fight for. Strapped to his wrist under the metal that protected him he wore a simple watch that he had found inside a small wooden box. The watch had been wrapped around the body of an old battered toy that had obviously been well loved by a child who had long since outgrown it, but had been unable to part with the small stuffed ocelot. The watch bore the inscription 'Love Always'.

The man was The Knight.

_They say in the darkest night there's a light beyond_

_But the ending always comes at last,_

_Endings always come too fast,_

_They come too fast_

_But they past too slow,_

_I love you, and that's all I know._

_That's all I know, that's all I know._


End file.
